
HMsbi 



Class. 

Book JJ'2l 



Copyright N*. 



COPVRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



FLASHLIGHTS 

FROM REAL LIFE 



BY 
JOHN T. DALE 



Author of ''What Ben Beverly Saw at the Great Exposition,' 

''Fingerposts on Life's Highway," and "Heroes 

and Greathearts and Their Animal Friends." 



Price $1.00 Postpaid 



FAIRFAX PUBLISHING COMPANY 

(Not Inc.) 

358 DEARBORN ST., CHICAGO 



ip.^ 



^H ^. ^ 



COPYRIGHT, 1910 

BY 

JOHN T. DALE 



©CLA278U'^6 



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a 



Preface 

A flashlight may light up the darkness but an in- 
stant, but that instant may be long enough to reveal 
a possible pitfall or precipice, and so save the un- 
wary traveler from sure destruction ; or long enough 
to reveal pictures of surpassing beauty which may 
refresh the weary soul. 

Some of the sketches are based on facts which 
have come within the personal knowledge of the 
author, others are founded on incidents which have 
come under the observation of others, but they are 
all typical of the ever-changing experiences and mu- 
tations of life, as the grand panorama of existence 
moves onward. THE AUTHOR. 



Contents 

Advice to Young Men, 96 

Alcohol a Poison, 181 

Blood— Blood— Blood! 130 

Boy Hero, The, 7 

Charles Lamb, 132 

Dangers of City Life, 55 

Dollar, The, 21 

Drinker's Appeal, The, 150 

Drunkard and His Horse, The, 67 

Dumb Sons, The, 35 

Emigrant Doctor, The, 38 

End of the Epicure, The, 50 

Father's Example, The, 97 

Gullible Girl, The, 15 

Hawkins and the Pledge, 92 

Inebriate's Bride, The (Poem), 204 

Intemperance, 91 

In the Nick of Time, 9 

Lawyer's Reformation, The, 141 

** My Mother," 52 

Mysterious Gambler, The, 69 

No! No!! No!!! 103 

S 



Not Beyond the Power of Love, 87 

Old Story, The, 107 

Only a Drunk (Poem), 202 

Only One Glass, 84 

Picture in the Book of Time, A, 46 

Pledge, The, 192 

Professor's Advice, The, 149 

Reformer, The.— A True Story, 108 

Revelations of a Gambler, 183 

Single and Married, 153 

Smoker's Peril, The, 19 

Stop in Time, 182 

*' Thou Art the Man! " 134 

Tragedy of a Family, The, Id 

Wreck of a Career, The, 199 

Young Lawyer's Downfall, The, 28 



The Boy Hero 

A prominent Chicago gentleman, — a native of New 
England, — is in the habit of spending his summer vaca- 
tions in the vicinity of his former home. During one 
of these outings, he came across a beautiful little lake 
in one of the country districts, and seeing a boat on 
the shore, went to a house near by to get permission 
to use it. 

He found no one at home except a small boy ten 
years of age, and in talking with the boy, noticed a 
costly fish pole and enquired of the boy how he came to 
get so fine a pole. 

The boy said that the pole was given to him by two 
men who came from the city, and then related in sub- 
stance the following occurrence: 

The two men started out to take a boatride in a 
canoe, and when they got out in deep water, the canoe 
for some reason, capsized, and they were thrown into 
the water. Neither of them could swim, but one of 
them clung to the canoe and kept afloat, but the other 
went down. 



FLASHLIGHTS PkOM REAL LIFE 

There was no one near enough to render any assist- 
ance except this boy, but he instantly made his plan 
for their rescue. He found a long pole, and rushed to 
the lake with it as fast as his legs could take him. He 
then waded in the lake with it, risking his own life in 
doing so as every step threatened to take him beyond 
his depth. He pushed the pole to the drowning men, 
aiid the one who had hold of the canoe seized it, and 
was able to grasp the other just as he was going down 
for the last time, and then the boy carefully pulled 
them to the shore. 

Life was nearly extinct in the one who went down, 
and it was with much difficulty that he was restored, 
but in the course of time he fully recovered. 

After hearing the story from the boy, the father 
came home and the Chicago man said to him, " Your 
little boy has done an heroic act and is worthy of a Car- 
negie medal.'' 

The father made this reply : " We do not want him to 
have a Carnegie medal or any money for what he did, 
but we want him to feel that he only did what it was 
his duty to do, and that he came into this world to 
help others so far as he is able." 

A noble reply from a wise father. Would that every 
father could inspire his boys with the same brave and 
unselfish spirit. Such boys are the glory and hope of 
our country. 

8 



In the Nick of Time 

" There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hewn them how we will." 

So wrote the myriad-minded bard, — but although we 
may accept the statement in general, yet after all, it is 
hard to realize that the events of our lives are ordered 
by an all-wise Providence. 

The following incident is one of numberless in* 
stances where the famous lines of the illustrious poet 
are found true in the complex experiences of actual life : 

Over thirty years ago a prominent business man who 
had accumulated a large fortune, as fortunes were 
then rated, in one of the most prosperous cities in Cen- 
tral Illinois, became dissatisfied with his surroundings, 
and conceived the idea of removing to a larger place 
where he could give his business ability a broader 
scope. 

He was looked upon as one of the leading citizens 
in the comparatively small city where he had acquired 
his wealth, and there his fortune was sufficient to have 
maintained him in affluence during the remainder of 
his life. 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

But his ambition would not be appeased, and he de- 
cided that he would close out his business, turn his 
effects into cash, and remove to the rapidly-growing 
metropolis of Chicago, there to start his business ca- 
reer afresh. 

He was a widower, about forty-five years of age, — 
a tall fine looking man, who dressed with scrupulous 
taste and had a proud and aristocratic bearing. At the 
same time he was a man of excellent personal habits, 
who loved a simple and quiet life. 

He went to Chicago as he had planned, and soon 
after obtained an interest in a large manufacturing 
enterprise. After a time, however, the connection 
proved uncongenial and he withdrew, probably at some 
financial loss. 

As Chicago was at that time enjoying an era of 
amazing prosperity, he concluded, like many others, to 
invest his means in property, hoping that the advance 
in values would amply repay him, but before he could 
sell it, one of those disastrous panics swept over the 
country, which undermine values, and sweep away for- 
tunes, as chaff before the wind. 

In the meantime he had became fascinated with a 
very bright and vivacious little lady whom he met, and 
despite his falling fortunes, and against the advice of his 
friends, married her. 

10 



IN THE NICK OF TIME 



Like many other affairs of that nature, she supposed 
that she was marrying a man of wealth, who could 
supply her with those pleasures and luxuries which her 
lively disposition craved. He was too proud to inform 
her otherwise, — indeed he did not realize himself how 
his holdings were slipping away from him. 

She was a woman of good character and amiable dis- 
position, but she was inordinately fond of dress and 
excitement, and the quiet humdrum life which she was 
called upon to take in a fashionable boarding house, 
together with her expensive outlays of finery and 
amusements, in the course of time, brought about a 
domestic rupture, and they agreed to separate, and to 
resort to the divorce court for relief. 

The husband was an honorable man and consented 
to an alimony which was far too generous for his 
means, but he paid it until his resources were ex- 
hausted, for during all this time, covering a period of 
several years, his financial affairs had been going from 
bad to worse, and at the last he became involved in 
ruinous litigation which completed his downfall. 

He was then in desperate straits, and resorted to 
different expedients to procure a livelihood, but suc- 
ceeded in none. He had a large acquaintance but 
when it became known that he was on the downhill 
road, they looked at him askance, and like the Levite 

11 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

of old shunned him, and walked by on the other side. 

At length in his desperation he went to a friend who 
had known him in his days of prosperity, and begged 
for a loan of a sufficient amount to pay a board bill of 
several weeks' duration, stating, that he had received 
notice from his landlady to move, and unless he could 
pay her immediately, he should be put upon the street 
that night. He obtained the loan, and his friend heard 
nothing more of him for some time. 

Several weeks after, this friend was surprised to re- 
ceive a note from the unfortunate man, sent from one 
of the great hospitals in Chicago, urging the friend to 
call and see him. 

He did so at once, and found the sender of the note 
in bed, suffering from what proved to be his fatal ill- 
ness. Knowing his financial condition, as no sugges- 
tion had been made as to the repayment of the loan, 
the friend was naturally surprised to find him in one 
of the best rooms in the hospital, with all the appliances 
that the best medical attention could procure. The 
sick man was not so ill but that he noticed the look of 
surprise on his friend's face, and; turning to him said : 
" I suppose you think it strange to find me in one of 
the best rooms of this splendid hospital, and I will 
tell you how it came about. When I was a rich man, 
I was the means of procuring a fine position for a cer- 

12 



IN THE NICK OF TIME 



tain young man whom I knew, through which he ac- 
quired great wealth and influence. Not long ago I re- 
ceived a letter from him stating that he expected to 
pass through Chicago on a certain day, and invited me 
to dine with him at the Palmer House. I had not 
heard from him for several years, although I had re- 
ceived reports of his prosperity, and in my discourage- 
ment, when all seemed dark in the future, I was sur- 
prised to receive such a letter and at first, thought I 
could not meet him, and would make some excuse to 
avoid him. But on second thought, I decided that I 
would accept his invitation. I went to the hotel at the 
appointed time and met him, and he looking me over, 
saw at once from my shabby appearance, that some- 
thing was the matter, and that I was not the rich man 
that he expected to meet. We went to the dining room 
and he enquired kindly how the world had used me 
since the old days, and I made up my mind that I 
w^ould make a clean breast of it, and tell him the whole 
stor>^ of my misfortunes. He listened with the greatest 
interest and sympathy, and before the meal was over 
he pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket amounting to 
five hundred dollars, and said — 'Now I will let you 
have this money if you will promise me on your honor 
to carry out one condition, and that is, that you will 
use the money solely for your personal expenses, and 

13 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

not to pay any debts or liabilities which you may have 
incurred/ He added : ' If you recover and ever get 
able to repay it, you may do so, if not, it is all right/ 
I gave him the promise, and he handed me the money. 
That is the money which brought and keeps me here, 
and that explains why you find me here/' 

He lingered for several weeks, gradually growing 
weaker, during which time his friend frequently visited 
him, and talked with him about the other world he was 
soon to enter. He had been a moral man, honorable in 
his dealings with his fellow man, but had never entered 
upon the Christian life, but as his life ebbed away, he 
committed himself to the mercy of God, and died trust- 
ing in Him. 

A fortune had been lost, but who may not say that 
from that loss, his soul had been saved. 

The five hundred dollars came in the nick of time to 
carry him through his illness, and to pay the expenses 
of an appropriate Christian burial. 



14 



The Gullible Girl 

A large part of the sin and misery in the world is 
due to the lack of exercising good, ordinary, common 
sense. The sense of propriety in a young woman is a 
valuable possession and the following incident shows 
how nearly a life was wrecked for want of it : 

Several years ago a traveler was on his way from 
Boston to the West, and being troubled by sleepless- 
ness, thought that he might as well spend most of the 
night on the train in reading. While engaged in this, 
his attention was attracted to a large, well dressed, 
handsome young man, evidently a traveling salesman, 
who leisurely sauntered through the car, looking in- 
tently at each occupant. 

The seat directly in front of the traveler was occu- 
pied by a prepossessing young lady who was traveling 
alone. Although there were several vacant seats in the 
car, the drummer came up to her, and asked her per- 
mission to share her seat, which she granted. The 
traveler resumed his reading but could not help but 
overhear the conversation which followed. The drum- 
mer assumed a very confidential manner, told where he 

15 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

lived, spoke of his home, his mother and sisters and 
family history, and soon the two were apparently 
on terms of intimacy as if they had known each other 
for years. From the remarks which she made, it was 
evident that she was a simple, unsophisticated country 
school teacher, who had been visiting some city relatives 
in the East, and was on her way back to her home. 
She was full of enthusiasm for what she had seen and 
enjoyed of town life during her visit, and was evidently 
reluctant to leave it. 

After a while the train stopped at a station a few 
moments, during which time he went out and brought 
her a cup of coffee, for which she seemed grateful. As 
hour after hour passed on, their conversation grew 
more and more intimate, until it seemed as if the 
simple girl had given this stranger her entire con- 
fidence. The traveler watched their proceedings, and 
became convinced that the young man despite his 
stylish dress and handsome appearance was a consum- 
mate villain and had nefarious designs in his mind 
which would appear later. He felt sure that it was a 
repetition of the old story of the spider and the fly. 
The train was due at Springfield at midnight, and out- 
side it was a wild, squally night, as dark as pitch. 

A short time before reaching Springfield, he re- 
marked that the all-night ride would be long and te- 

16 



THE GULLIBLE GIRL 



dious, and suggested that she stop off at Springfield 
with him, and get a good night's rest at a hotel, and 
strange to say, after a little hesitation she consented to 
do so. The traveler could hardly believe his senses 
and was naturally shocked to think that a modest girl 
upwards of twenty years of age who had intelligence 
and education sufficient to teach a school, could so out- 
rage all sense of womanly propriety as to place herself 
in the power of an entire stranger under such circum- 
stances. He was convinced however by her entire con- 
duct that she had no evil intent, but was fascinated by 
the insidious wiles of the scoundrel who was plotting 
her ruin, and that she was under a sort of hypnotic 
spell. He resolved also that in some way he would 
frustrate the designs of the villain. 

At length midnight came, and the whistle blew for 
Springfield, when the drummer walked to the forward 
end of the car and looked out of the window. The 
traveler improved this occasion, by calling the atten- 
tion of the young lady to himself and said hastily, — 
" Excuse me, but I could not help but overhear your 
conversation. That man means harm to you, do not 
go with him.*' The spell was broken, and she realized 
at once the fearful step she wras about to take. When 
the drummer came back she informed him that she had 
decided to go on with the train, and all his powers of 

17 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

persuasion could not move her. After the train left 
Springfield, she went to a secluded part of the car, and 
evidently did the hardest thinking she had ever done 
in her life. 

After a time she came back to the traveler, and with 
tears of gratitude, thanked him for his timely warning, 
and said but for that she should have gone with the 
villain, who she realized then, meant to eflfeot her 
ruin. 



18 



The Smoker's Peril 

Many years ago the writer occupied an office with a 
young man whom we will call Fred Gordon. He was 
of handsome appearance, and had a singularly amiable 
and attractive personality. His father had been presi- 
dent of one of the great railroad systems of our coun- 
try, and being a man of wealth and distinction had 
given his son every advantage in the way of education 
and foreign travel. Most men are born to struggle 
at some time, and for some things, but to this fortu- 
nate youth every breeze was soft and propitious. Al- 
though having been exposed to all the allurements and 
temptations which rich men's sons encounter, both at 
home and abroad, yet he passed through the fiery or- 
deal unscathed, and maintained his self-respect and 
an unsullied character. 

In the course of time he made the acquaintance, and 
paid his addresses to the only daughter of a million- 
aire, and through his many estimable qualities and 
agreeable manners, was accepted, and became the 
husband of the rich heiress. He had then any- 
thing that heart could wish in the way of luxury ; but 
aside from smoking he acquired no injurious habits. 
Smoking, however, became a passion, almost a disease 

19 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

with him, and he indulged himself to the utmost with 
the finest cigars that money could procure. 

His physician remonstrated with him, and warned 
him that he was injuring himself, but he laughingly re- 
plied that the habit would do him no harm. He was 
reminded of the premature death of General Grant, 
which was caused by a cancer in the throat, brought 
on by excessive smoking, but in vain. Even at that 
time, however, the narcotic poison was doing its dead- 
ly work, and before long a cancer in the throat appeared 
and rapidly developed, and in a comparatively . short 
time, he met an early and agonizing death. But this 
was not all. He had two children, — one a daughter, 
an imbecile both in mind and body, and he may reason- 
ably assume that the deadly nicotine poison which in- 
fected his whole system, was transmitted to his poster- 
ity. 

It is stated if all the vile and poisonous cigarettes 
which are smoked in one year in the United States, 
were laid end to end that they would encircle the globe. 

They are blasting thousands of bright and promising 
lives, and are sowing the seeds from which multitudes 
of imbeciles and degenerates will be the sad harvest. 
These will fill to overflowing our asylums, hospitals, 
poor-houses and prisons, and will increase by so much, 
the burdens of society. 

20 



The Dollar 

They brought him a dollar. 

He took it, clutched it in his long skinny fingers, 
tried its sound against the bed-post, and then gazed at 
it long and intently with his dull leaden eyes. 

That day, in the hurry of business. Death had struck 
him, even in the street. He was hurrying to collect 
his last month's rent, and was on the verge of the mis- 
erable court where his tenants herded like beasts in 
their kennels — he was there with bank-book in his 
hand, when Death laid his hand upon him. 

He was carried home to his splendid mansion. 
He was laid upon a bed with its satin coverlet. The 
lawyer, the relations, and the preacher were sent for. 
All day long he lay without speech, moving only his 
right hand, as though in the act of counting money. 

At midnight he spoke. 

He asked for a dollar and they brought one to him, 
and lean and gaunt he sat up in his death-bed, and 
clutched it with the grip of death. 

A shaded lamp stood on a table near the silken bed. 
Its light fell faintly around the splendid room, where 
chairs and carpets and mirrors, silken bed and lofty 
ceiling, all said. Gold! as plainly as human lips can 
say it. 

21 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

His hair and eyebrows were white. His cheeks sunk- 
en, and his lips thin and surrounded by wrinkles that 
indicated the pattern of Avarice. As he sat up in bed 
with his neck bared and the silken coverlet wrapped 
about his lean frame, his white hair and eye-brows con- 
trasted with his wasted and wrinkled face, he looked 
like a ghost. And there was life in his leaden eye — 
all that life was centered on the Dollar which he 
gripped in his clenched fist. 

His wife, a pleasant-faced matronly woman, was 
seated at the foot of the bed. His son, a young man 
of twenty-one, dressed in the last touch of fashion, sat 
by the lawyer. The lawyer sat before the table, pen in 
hand, and gold spectacles on his nose. There was a 
huge parchment spread before him. 

*' Do you think he'll make a will ? " asked the son. 

'' Hardly compos mentis yet,'' was the whispered 
reply. " Wait. He'll be lucid after a while." 

" My dear," said the wife, " had I not better send 
for a preacher ? " 

She rose and took her dying husband by the hand, 
but he did not mind. His eye was upon the Dollar. 

He was a rich man. He owned palaces in Walnut 
and Chestnut streets, and hovels and courts in the out- 
skirts. He had iron mines in this State ; copper mines 
of the Lakes somewhere; he had golden interests in 

22 



THE DOLLAR 



California. His name was bright upon the records of 
twenty banks; he owned stock of all kinds; he had a 
half-dozen papers in his pay. 

He knew but one crime^ — to be in debt without the 
power to pay. 

He knew but one virtue — ^to get money. 

That crime he had never forgiven — ^this virtue he 
had never forgotten, in the long way of thirty-five 
years. 

To hunt down a debtor, to distress a tenant, to turn 
a few additional thousands by a sharp speculation — 
these were the main achievements of his life. 

He was a good man — his name was upon a silver 
plate upon the pew door of a velvet-cushioned church. 

He was a benevolent man — for every thousand 
which he wrung from the tenants of his courts, or 
from the debtors who writhed beneath his heels, he 
gave ten dollars to some benevolent institution. 

He was a just man — the gallows and the jail always 
found in him a faithful and unswerving advocate. 

And now he is a dying man — see ! As he sits upon 
the bed of death, with a Dollar in his clinched hand. 

Oh! holy Dollar, object of his life-long pursuit, 
what comfort hast thou for him now in his pain of 
death ? 

At length the dying man revived and dictated his 



23 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

will. It was strange to see the mother and son and 
lawyer muttering, and sometimes wrangling, beside 
the bed of death. All the while the testator clutched 
the Dollar in his right-hand. 

While the will was being made, the preacher came — 
even he who held the pastoral charge of the great 
church, whose pew doors bore saintly names on silver 
plates, and whose seats on Sabbath day groaned be- 
neath the weight of respectability, broadcloth and satin. 

He came and said his prayers decorously and in 
measured words — ^but never once did the dying man 
relax his hold of the Dollar. 

" Can't you read me something, say — quick, don't you 
see I'm going?" at length said the rich man, turning 
a frightened look at the preacher. 

The preacher, whose cravat was of the whitest, took 
a book with golden clasps from a marble table. 

And he read. 

"And I say unto you it is easier for a camel to go 
through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to en- 
ter the Kingdom of God." 

*' Who said those words — who — who — who ?" fairly 
shrieked the dying man, shaking the hand which 
clenched the Dollar, at the preacher's head. 

The preacher hastily turned over the leaf but did not 
reply. 

24 



THE DOLLAR 



" Why did you never tell me this before? — Why did 
you never preach from it as I sat in your church? Why 
— why?*' 

The preacher did not reply — but turned over another 
leaf. But the dying man would not be quieted. 

"And it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of 
a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of 
God, is it ? Then what's to become of me ? Am I not 
rich? What tenant did I ever spare, what debtor did 
I ever release ? And you stood up Sunday after Sun- 
day and preached to us, and never said one word about 
the camel." 

The preacher, in search of a consoling passage, 
turned rapidly over the leaves, and, in his confusion, 
came to this passage, which read : 

" Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl, for your 
miseries that shall come upon you. Your gold and 
silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a 
witness against you ; and shall eat your flesh as it were 
fire; ye have heaped treasures together for the last 
days. Behold the hire of the laborers who have reaped 
down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, 
crieth ; and the cries of them which have reaped are 
entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth." 

"And yet you never preached that to me ! " shrieked 
the dying man. 



25 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

The preacher, who had blundered through the pas- 
sage from Jamos, which we have quoted, knew not what 
to say. He was perchance terrified by the very look 
of his dying parishioner. 

Then the wife drew near and strove to comfort him, 
and the son (who had been reading the will) at- 
tempted a word or two of consolation. 

And with the Dollar in his hand he sank into death, 
talking of stock, of rent, of copper mine and camel, of 
tenant and of debtor, until the breath left his lips. 
Thus he died. 

When he was cold the preacher rose and asked the 
lawyer whether the deceased had left anything to such 
and such a charitable society, which had been en- 
grafted upon the preacher's church. 

And the wife closed his eyes and tried to wrench the 
Dollar from his hand, but in vain. He clutched it as 
though it were the only savior to light him through the 
darkness of eternity. 

And the son sat down with dry eyes and thought of 
the hundreds of thousands which were now his own. 

Next day there was a hearse followed by a train of 
carriages nearly a mile in length. There was a crowd 
around an open grave, and an elegant sermon upon the 
virtues of the deceased by the preacher. 

There was a fluttering of crape badges, and rolling 

26 



THE DOLLAR 



of carriages, and — no tears. They left the dead man 
and returned to the palace where sorrow died even as 
the crape was taken from the door knob. 

"And in the grave the dead hand still clenched the 
Dollar!'' 



27 



The Young Lawyer's Downfall 

The Criminal Courts of our country reveal many a 
sad and tragical career. The following case occurred 
in the Criminal Court in St. Louis : 

The defendant, arraigned for passing counterfeit 
money, was probably about twenty-eight years of age, 
though he had the appearance of being much older. He 
had evidently once been a fine-looking man ; in stature 
he was something over six feet, and his strongly 
marked features and prominent forehead gave evi- 
dence of more than ordinary intellect. But you could 
clearly discover that he had become a prey to the mon- 
ster intemperance — the mark of the beast was stamped 
on his countenance, which gave it a vivid and unnat- 
ural glare. He was placed in the box with others who 
were to be arraigned upon the indictment preferred 
against them. All the others had pleaded not guilty, 
(as is usual), and a day was set for their trial. The 
defendant was told to stand up, and the clerk read to 
him the indictment, which charged him with having 
passed a counterfeit bill, for the sum of three dollars ; 
and upon being asked the question, " Guilty or not 
guilty ? '' he replied, " Guilty — guilty ! " Then, turning 

28 



THE YOUNG LAWYER'S DOWNFALL 

to the Court, he remarked that, as this was the last time 
he ever expected to appear in court, he would be glad 
if he could be allowed to make a few remarks. After 
a pause, in which he was evidently endeavoring to 
calm his feelings, he proceeded as follows : 

" May it please the Court, — In the remarks I shall 
make I will not attempt to extenuate my crime, or ask 
at your hands any s>Tnpathy in passing sentence upon 
me. I know that I have violated the laws of my coun- 
try, and justly deserve punishment; nor would I recall 
the past, or dwell upon the bitter present, for my own 
sake. A wish to do good to others is my only motive. 

" I shall, with the indulgence of the Court, give a 
brief narrative of my life, with a hope that those young 
men around me may take warning by it, and avoid the 
rock upon which I have split. I was born of respect- 
able parents, in the State of New Jersey, and during 
my childhood, received every attention that fond par- 
ents could bestow upon an only son. It was early dis- 
covered that I had a fondness for books ; and my father, 
though in limited circumstances, determined to give 
me a liberal education. I was sent to a high school in 
the neighborhood ; and such was my progress, that at 
twelve years of age my preceptor declared me qualified 
for college, and I accordingly entered one of the oldest 
universities in the country. Here I so distinguished 

29 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

myself that, at sixteen, I graduated with the secona 
honors of the institution, and returned home, flushed 
with the brihiant prospect of success that lay before 
me. I soon after commenced the study of law, and 
when only in my twentieth year I obtained license to 
practice. 

''Acting upon the advice of friends, I determined to 
try my fortune in the West. I will not detain you with 
an account of my separation from those I held most 
dear — suffice to say, that I received the blessings of my 
parents, and, in return, promised faithfully AND 
HONESTLY to avoid all bad company as well as 
their vices. Had I kept my promise, I should have 
been saved this shame, and been free from the load of 
guilt that hangs around me continually, like a fiendish 
vulture, threatening to drag me to justice for crimes 
as yet unrevealed. But, to return, I left my early 
home, where all had been sunshine, and where my 
pathway had been strewed with flowers, to try my for- 
tune among strangers, and to try my strength in buf- 
fetting the storms and tempests of the world. With a 
light heart I looked to the future ; and taking the usual 
route I soon reached Wheeling, where I took passage 
on a boat for Louisville. On the boat a game of cards 
was proposed for AMUSEMENT; and although I 
had promised faithfully to avoid such things, still, I 

30 



THE YOUNG LAWYER'S DOWNFALL 

argued to myself, there was no harm in playing a game 
for amusement. 

" One night I accompanied some young men to a 
gaming-shop, and for the first time in my life I saw 
a Faro Bank. Aly companions commenced betting, 
and I w^as induced to join them, although I did not 
understand the game. Again I played with success; 
and when we left the house, was more than two hun- 
dred dollars winner. None of my companions were 
fortunate, and it was insisted that I was the lucky man, 
and that I must treat. We accordingly repaired to my 
room, where I ordered wine, and before we broke up 
we were deeply intoxicated. With me it was the first 
time, and the next day I resolved I would never play 
cards again. I adhered to the determination for nearly 
three months, when I again yielded to the entreaties 
of my dissipated associates. 

" I now played with varied success, and in all cases 
found an excuse for resorting to the winebottle. If I 
lost, I drank to drown sorrow : if I won, I treated my 
good fortune. Thus I proceeded upon my downward 
course, until drinking and gambling became my chief 
employments. All my friends who were worth pre- 
serving abandoned me, until my only associates were 
drunkards and gamblers. When almost reduced to 
want, (for I had left oflF business,) I received a letter 

31 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

informing me of the death of my father — that father 
who watched over my early years — who loved me so 
tenderly. And did I act as an affectionate child ? No. 
Vice had destroyed the human feelings of my heart, 
and left only the animal passions and appetites. As 
the letter contained a check for five hundred dollars, 
a part of my father's hard earnings, — I drowned my 
grief that night in a Bacchanalian revel, and in a few 
days I was again penniless. I will not dwell upon the 
everyday scenes of my life, which were such as may 
at all times be witnessed at any of the dram-shops of 
our city, where wretched men squander the little pit- 
tance that justly belongs to their suffering wives and 
children. 

'' But to pass on. For nearly three years I have 
been a drunken, wandering outcast. Six months ago 
I received a letter from my dear mother, enclosing 
one hundred dollars, and informing me that she was 
fast sinking with disease, and entreating me, with all 
a mother's feelings, to come home an(3 see her before 
she died. For a time I felt the appeal, and resolved to 
comply with her request; and accordingly took pas- 
sage on a steamboat for that purpose. For two days I 
refrained from liquor; but my thirst became insup- 
portable, — at length I approached the bar, and de- 
manded the liquid fire. I was soon intoxicated, when 

32 



THE YOUNG LAWYER'S DOWNFALL 

I madly sought the gaming-table ; and before the boat 
reached Louisville, I was stripped of every cent. Thus 
all hope of seeing my dying mother was cut off. I re- 
mained in Louisville several weeks; in which time I 
learned that my mother had died, and that her last 
breath was spent in prayer for her wretched child. 

" From Louisville I shipped on board the steamer 
Brazil, as a deck hand, and came to this place, where I 
was discharged for drunkenness. Let every young 
man reflect upon this picture. I — who had moved in 
the first circles of society, — had been the guest of dis- 
tinguished public men, and a favorite among the literati 
of our country — was now turned off as unfit for a 
deck hand of a steamboat ! Yet intemperance had 
done this much. 

" I loitered about this city for several weeks, and 
was sometimes engaged in posting up the books of 
some dram-shop, for which I was paid in the liquid 
fire, kept for the accommodation of customers. One 
evening I fell in company with a man who had lately 
been lodged in jail for passing counterfeit money. We 
played cards, and I won from him the three-dollar 
bill in question. The next day I learned it was a coun- 
terfeit, and did not offer to pass it for some days. But 
at last I got out of all employment. I had no other 
money — I could meet no one who would ask me to 

33 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

drink. My appetite was like a raging fire within me. 
I could not endure it. I sought a dram-shop — offered 
the bill — it was accepted ; and when found a few hours 
after, by the officers of justice, I was beastly drunk. 

" The evidence of guilt was conclusive, and before 
my brain was clear of the intoxicating fumes, I was 
lodged in jail to await my trial. I am now done. I 
have not detained the Court with any hope or wish that 
clemency would be extended to my case; but with a 
hope that my example may be a warning to other 
young men — that those who may hear me may, when 
asked to play a social game of cards, or drink a social 
glass, think of my fate and refrain. They may think 
themselves secure — they may believe they can stop 
when they please, but let them remember that I argued 
thus until I was lost." (Here the defendant sunk 
down, and appeared to be very much affected, and for 
a few moments silence reigned throughout the court- 
house.) 

At length the judge, who is as much distinguished 
for the qualities of his heart, as he is for learning as 
a judge, proceeded in a brief but appropriate manner 
to pass sentence upon the defendant, putting his pun- 
ishment in the penitentiary down to the shortest time 
allowed by the law. 



34 



The Dumb Sons 

We are told in Holy Writ " that the righteous judg- 
ment of God will render to every man according to his 
deeds/' but if the deeds are evil, the judgments which 
follow are not always discernible in this world. But 
there are exceptions to this, and the following incident 
founded on fact, is one of the most remarkable in- 
stances of that kind : 

A prosperous business man was blessed with two 
beautiful boys, but extraordinary as it may seem, they 
were both bom dumb. The father was naturally a 
cold and unfeeling man of a selfish disposition, whose 
policy had been to get all he could out of the world, 
and give as little in return as possible. 

But the sight of his speechless boys softened his 
heart, and filled him with an almost insupportable sor- 
row, which at times seemed as if it would deprive him 
of his reason. But as his anguish increased, his love 
for his children increased also, and one day in an 
agony of soul he exclaimed : " O God, why have I de- 
served this terrible affliction ! " 

An old man, a neighbor, who had known him from 
a boy, happened to overhear him and calling him aside, 

3S 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

said, " I see you are downcast at the affliction of your 
children, but ^ do not wonder at it. I am going to talk 
to you plainly which I have never done before. Do 
you not remember when you were a boy how you laid 
snares for the birds, and when caught, tore their 
tongues out of their mouths, and then with malignant 
joy, let them fly again? How often did I chide and 
warn you but you would not listen. You would not 
believe that there was a God in heaven, who created 
the birds as he created you, and placed both you and 
the birds in this world to enjoy it, and to use it for 
your pleasure and sustenance. 

*'But because you were larger and stronger and wiser 
than they, you maimed, tortured and slaughtered them 
to gratify your brutal and cruel nature. You would 
not believe that the Creator of the world has such a 
care for his creatures that ' not a sparrow falls to the 
ground without his notice ' and who has told us in his 
Holy Word, * that with what measure ye mete, it shall 
be measured to you again.' You caused the birds to 
be dumb so that they could not praise God with their 
tongues, and now you will never hear the sweet name 
of father from your children. 

"It seems strange and unaccountable to us that God 
should punish you for your cruelty, by afflicting your 
children, and yet we are told in the Bible ' that the 

36 



THE DUMB SONS. 



sins of the fathers are visited upon their children unto 
the third and fourth generation/ 

" But this great sorrow which a righteous God has 
sent as a judgment against you for your cruelty, is also 
a token of his love and compassion for you, for 
through this sorrow your heart may be softened, and 
your cruel and selfish nature may be changed." 

The strong frame of the man was convulsed with 
emotion, and he could only respond with sobs and 
moanings of unutterable grief and remorse, for he 
knew, alas, that the words of the old man were only 
too true. 



37 



The Emigrant Doctor 

The President of a Western College once related the 
following incident : 

We met with an English physician, who, without 
friends or means, had come to the New World to seek 
his fortune. As he lacked the enterprise necessary to 
struggle successfully with his new competitors, he 
begged to attach himself to our family. Accordingly 
he came with us to the West. The arrangement was 
mutually advantageous. He was at once humble and 
gifted, amiable and industrious, useful in counsel and 
in action, happy in himself, and the source of happiness 
to others ; so that he came to be regarded by the par- 
ents as a child, and by the children as an elder brother. 
In the drug-store which he opened, he was indispen- 
sable, and made everything around him wear an air of 
neatness, accuracy and scientific precision. He was in- 
troducing himself gradually into practice, when, unfor- 
tunately, he formed acquaintance with some gentlemen 
of the village, whose social enjoyments were enlivened 
with the glass. Kind, and yielding to a fault, he was 
easily persuaded to partake, and on one or two occa- 
sions he returned home without sufficient command of 
himself. Alarm was taken, and the doctor was di- 

38 



THE EMIGRANT DOCTOR 



rected, to the grief of all parties, to seek a new home. 
With a view to escape the enchantment of his asso- 
ciates, he went to a neighboring village. Here the 
fairest prospects opened before him. He entered at 
once upon a lucrative and successful practice; was 
esteemed as a man, admired as a physician, and be- 
loved as a friend. I have never known a physician so 
highly esteemed or so nearly adored. He married a 
beautiful and amiable wife, conducted her to a taste- 
ful cottage, where the pinks bordered the walk, and 
the roses perfumed the window. This charming home 
was ere long lighted up with smiles of a beautiful 
daughter. He bade fair for a long, useful, and happy 
life, and a crown of imperishable honor. But the ser- 
pent was lurking in his paradise. As he passed around 
among his patients, he was presented here and there 
with a bottle. Aware of his danger, he at first re- 
sisted, but fearing that he would be thought proud, he 
pressed the cup to his lips ; a sip here and a sip there 
began to be felt. At length, on occasions of severe 
fatigue or night watching, he thought he would indulge 
himself wnth a little extra stimulus. When the thought 
arose, *' What if the appetite should become uncon- 
trollable ?'' he Avould reply within himself, "Pshaw! 
am I not a man? can I not govern myself? Do not all 
these farmers do so? Are they stronger than 1 ? '' The 

39 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

barrier was broken down, destruction soon came in 
like a flood. His character was changed. 

The appetite for drink once formed, can not be tam- 
pered with. Mr. Addison speaks of an English noble- 
man, who receiving a present of a young tiger, under- 
took to domesticate it. He treated it with kindness, 
allowed it full liberty in his house, but was careful to 
feed it with nothing but milk. The experiment was 
successful, and the young tiger took his rug in the 
parlor with the lap-dogs. On one occasion, after his 
lordship had been bled, he reclined upon the sofa, and 
fell asleep. On awakening, he found that the bandage 
had become loose, and that the tiger was eagerly lap- 
ping the blood that trickled down his arm. Alarmed, 
he bade the animal retire, but it was no longer the harm- 
less plaything, but putting itself in an attitude for at- 
tack, it sprang upon him with all the fury of its savage 
nature. So with the dormant love of liquor ; there is 
no safety to the breast in which it lurks, but in total 
abstinence. 

The victim is seldom aware of his danger till long 
after his neighbors have perceived it. He is uncon- 
scious of some of the indications of intoxication which 
he gives, and forgetful of others, in his less insensible 
paroxysms, the fear of shame leads to efforts of con- 
cealment, which he vainly supposes are successful. The 

40 



THE EMIGRANT DOCTOR 



dread of reproach prevents an ingenuous acknowledg- 
ment of his fault, and thus discourages his friends in 
their efforts to save him, while a sincere resolution to 
reform, which grows weaker as appetite waxes strong- 
er, deludes him with the hope of escape. Thus it was 
in this case. Gradually the doctor's practice left him. 
The patrons who nearly idolized him were constrained 
to pass him by. His loss of friends and character took 
away the remaining restraints to his appetite, and he 
soon became incapable of personal duty. Sober inter- 
vals brought on severe struggles ; poverty, shame, dis- 
grace, disease, death, and hell forbade his advance; 
friends, fame, prosperity, domestic peace, long life, and 
heaven bade him retreat; but appetite raged within, 
and with a terrible consciousness that all was lost, he 
escaped the vision of the future by plunging again into 
insensibility. At length, summoning his remaining 
strength, he made a desperate effort to rescue himself. 
He moved back to the village which he had left. Here 
things had changed: his old companions were gone, 
salutary moral influence pervaded the community, and 
everything conspired to encourage his reform. He 
stood erect, but as his character had preceded him, he 
was eyed askance, and he won confidence but slowly. 
Still there was hope. On one occasion, after an elec- 
tion which resulted as he desired, he joined in a re- 

41 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

joicing. As usual in such circumstances, the wine 
flowed freely; it was offered him, he refused; it was 
pressed upon him with such declarations as these : " It 
is a rare occasion ; men will expect to make free ; you 
should not refuse a single glass/^ He drank, he was 
bewildered, overcome. 

His wife was at my father's awaiting him. He 
came late at night, and came drunk. I can not forget 
the countenance of that wife as he entered. Shame, 
grief, disappointment, rage, despair, in turn played 
around her features. With a desperate effort to sub- 
due her emotion, she put on her bonnet and shawl, and 
bade a respectful farewell. I attended her with her 
husband to the door. As soon as the light was with- 
drawn, she shook him from her as she would a beast ; 
the sense of wrong and ruin for a time overpowered 
her affection ; her last hope of temporal happiness had 
expired, and she was but little better than a maniac. 
He staggered after her, bawling like a calf and making 
a strange clatter upon the pavement, the echoes of 
which, in that dark and silent night, I shall not soon 
forget. Disheartened, he moved to his own cottage, 
now sadly changed. Disease came on him apace; he 
died in his prime, leaving a beautiful young wife and 
child nearly destitute. He was buried not without pity, 

42 



THE EMIGRANT DOCTOR 



but with a feeling as if the earth had been relieved of 
a burden. 

We would not speak irreverently of even ruined hu- 
man nature, but if there is anything which can obliter- 
ate our sympathies for a man it is drunkenness, which 
more perfectly than anything else obliterates manhood. 
The ancients felt this as well as the moderns, and have 
transmitted many fine sayings upon it. A woman, in- 
jured by her drunken monarch, said, ''I appeal from 
Philip drunk to Philip sober.'' Publius Syrus says, " He 
who jests upon a man that is drunk, injures the ab- 
sent." One said, "A man may be wise in the morning, 
and when the sun gives the sign to spread the table, 
and intemperance brings in the messes, and fills the 
bowls, the man falls away, and leaves a beast in his 
room. And when we bury a drunkard, we bury him 
with sorrow, it may be, but not as a man ; the man has 
long since departed." In this case, as in many, we 
might write, " He whose merits deserve a temple, can 
now scarce find a tomb." Let us pause a moment over 
this case. We see here loss of fortune, character, busi- 
ness, friends, internal peace, self-control, health, and 
all rational enjoyments. Here, too, was exposure of 
folly, force of temptation, power of passion, alienation 
of natural afifection, blunting of moral sensibiHty, pre- 
mature death, and domestic desolation. Here, too, was 



43 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

duty disregarded, and sin continued down to his tomb ; 
here, too, wcs evil example upon family and friends, 
to be felt in the present and future generations ; here 
was an appetite which neither genius, accomplishments, 
affection, honor, nor the sanctity of religion could con- 
trol. We will not lift the curtain of another world. 
This, too, be it marked, was not a case of the worst 
description, for the poor victim was restrained from 
crime. But we must not view this instance alone. It 
must be multiplied by hundreds of thousands to give 
the aggregate of drunkards daily exhibited in the 
United States, a number kept plus by moderate drink- 
ing, which fills up the places as fast as death and crime 
vacate them. The evils of intemperance are not con- 
fined to the intemperate. Here a man reeling from a 
debauch dislocates his shoulder; there an intoxicated 
driver oversets a coach, and kills some innocent travel- 
ers ; here the bottle makes a maniac, and there a mur- 
derer; here it sinks a ship, and there it fires a house; 
here it ruins a character, and there a soul. It fills luna- 
tic asylums, hospitals, poor-houses, jails, and peniten- 
tiaries with victims. Careful estimates show that it 
causes three-fourths of all the crime, three-fourths of 
all the pauperism, and a large part of all insanity in 
this Union: that it occasions an immense destruction 
of property, adds to the number and aggravates the 

44 



THE EMIGRANT DOCTOR 



severity of diseases, spreads dissipation, vice, and 
wretchedness over the land, leads to bodily, mental, and 
moral deterioration in many families and communities, 
corrupts the polls, and endangers the Gospel in all civil- 
ized lands. The opening of the bottle, indeed, is the 
opening of Pandora's box. Reader, if you are wise, 
you will eschew it, for, while, thus injurious, it is 
never useful in health, and rarely in disease. 



4S 



A Picture in the Book of Time 

There is a chapter in the history of our race, yet un- 
written by human pen. It is that which shall truth- 
fully detail the evils that have followed in the track of 
Intemperance, since he first set foot in the vineyard 
of Noah, upon a world just cleansed by a baptismal 
deluge, of all the blood poured upon its bosom. But 
though unseen by mortal eye, there is a record kept 
of every tear and sigh, of every hateful passion, of 
every horrid deed, of every power perverted and talent 
misapplied. Once has the curtain been uplifted, and 
the hand of the mighty angel revealed to the impious 
Belshazaar, when, with his assembled lords, he pro- 
faned the treasures of the temple, and " DRANK 
WINE before the thousands/' Well might the mon- 
arch tremble at his impending doom. And even to this 
hour, over every scene of revelry and mirth, where 
mazy dance, and sparkling goblet, and gaming-table, 
tell of the midnight debauch, where the snare is spread 
for the unsuspecting, and crime is concealed by dark- 
ness, there is an eye to see and a pen to grave the record 
on that scroll, which shall one day unfold to our gaze, 
" the bloodiest picture in the Book of Time." 

46 



A PICTURE IN THE BOOK OF TIME. 

Then, too, shall we behold, summoned by the arch- 
angel's trump from their dishonored graves, the 
countless multitude, whom the demon of drink hath 
led captive in his chains. There will be Ahasuerus, the 
proud, his heart no longer " merry with wine,'' and 
Alexander, the world-renowned, his conquests and his 
cups alike departed. There will be Sheridan, the bril- 
liant orator of the British Parliament, whose tongue, 
palsied by time, no longer charms a nation's ear by its 
persuasive eloquence. And by his side will move John 
Randolph of Roanoke, one of the most gifted men of 
our own land, whose eagle genius, around which was 
coiled the serpent of the still, while soaring upward to 
the heights of legal distinction, suddenly fell from mid- 
heaven, smote by the fangs of this deadly destroyer. 
And Byron will be there, whose fascinating verse drips 
with the poison of the intoxicating bowl, to whom the 
millions, once enraptured by the music of his harp, 
shall say, " How art thou fallen ! " There shall the 
frenzied eye of Edgar A. Poe, behold " The Raven " of 
his dream, and to all the questioning of his spirit, 
'' May I not be again restored to happiness and the 
hope of heaven?" conscience shall echo the voice of 
the Raven— DESPAIR— NEVER MORE— NEVER 
]\IORE. And with these a throng, no man can num- 
ber, from classic Greece and imperial Rome, from 

47 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

sunny France and British realms, from this proud re- 
public, that might else be the glory of all lands ; from 
the wigwam of the red man fading, fading before 
that fiery tide, which has swept over his fairest hunting 
grounds; and from the distant isles of the sea, shall 
they meet to join that vast procession, whose path is 
the way to hell, going down to the chambers of Death. 
There wine, the mocker, no longer arrayed in garb like 
an angel of light, shall taunt them with their folly, 
when all TOO LATE they find he '^iteth like a serpent 
and stingeth like an adder.'' Is the picture overdrawn ? 
Lift up your eyes and look out upon the tens of thou- 
sands NOW treading the Avernian descent to that 
dread, fathomless abyss, where Hope and Mercy never 
came. See, crowding upon their track, a multitude of 
every age, and sex,- and station, the slaves of Appetite 
all unconscious of their danger, each moment nearing 
the awful gulf. Fit emblem of these, are the rapids of 
Niagara, as, glittering in the sunbeams, and dancing 
to the wild music of ^olian harps, they sweep on to 
the brow of the cataract. 

Listen to the voice of the siren Fashion, as from her 
Circean cup she pours forth the sparkling, poisoned 
draught, her deluded votary of sense and shame alike 
beguiling, while in his charmed ear she whispers, 
" Thou shalt not surely die." Behold base-bom Ava- 

48 



A PICTURE IN THE BOOK OF TIME. 

rice, bartering a brother's blood for gold, and riveting 
the chains of Appetite upon husbands, brothers, sons, 
who have vainly sought to burst the bonds of their 
fell destroyer. 



49 



The End of the Epicure 

A prominent physician of long practice, relates the 
following as a part of his personal experience. He 
says, that some people think a glass of brandy can't 
hurt anybody. " Why,'' says an acquaintance. '' I 
know a person, yonder he is now on high change, a 
specimen of manly beauty, a portly six footer. He has 
the bearing of a prince, for he is one of our merchant 
princes. His face wears the hue of health, and now 
at the age of fifty odd, he has the quick, elastic step 
of our young men of twenty-five, and none more full 
of mirth and wit than he, and I know he never dines 
without brandy and water, and never goes to bed with- 
out a terrapin or oyster supper, with plenty of cham- 
pagne ; and more than that, he was never known to be 
drunk. So here is a living example and disproof of 
the temperance twaddle about the dangerous nature 
of an occasional glass, and the destructive effect of a 
temperate use of good liquors." 

Now it so happened that this specimen of safe 
brandy-drinking was a relation of ours. He died in a 
year or two aft&r that, of chronic diarrhea, a common 
end of those who are never drunk, nor ever out of 
liquor. He left his six children, and he had ships on 

SO 



THE END OF THE EPICURE 



every sea, and credit at every counter, v^hich he never 
had occasion to use. 

For months before he died — he was a year in dying 
— he could eat or drink nothing without distress, and 
at his death, the whole alimentary canal was a mass of 
disease ; in the midst of the millions, he died of inani- 
tion. That is not the half, reader. He had been a 
steady drinker, a daily drinker, for twenty-eight years. 
He left a legacy to his children, which we did not men- 
tion. Scrofula had eaten up one daughter for fifteen 
years; another is in the mad-house; the third and 
fourth, of unearthly beauty — there was a kind of gran- 
deur in that beauty — but they blighted, and paled, and 
faded, into heaven, we trust, in their sweetest teens; 
another is tottering on the verge of the grave, and only 
one of them is left with all the senses, and each of them 
as weak as water. Why, we came from the dissecting- 
room and made a note of it, it was so horrible. 



51 



"My Mother!" 

*' If I could only see my mother! '' 

Again and again was that yearning cry repeated — 

'' If I could only see my mother ! '' 

The vessel rocked, and the waters, chased by a fresh 
wind, played musically against the side of the ship. 
The sailor, a second mate, quite youthful, lay in his 
narrow bed, his eyes glazing, his limbs stiffening, his 
breath failing. It was not pleasant to die thus in this 
shaking, plunging ship, but he seemed not to mind his 
bodily comfort — his eyes looked far away — and ever 
and anon broke forth that grieving cry — 

*' If I could only see my mother ! " 

An old sailor sat by, the Bible in his hand, from 
which he had been reading. He bent above the young 
man, and asked him why he was so anxious to see the 
mother he had wilfully left. 

" Oh, that's the reason,'' he cried in anguish. '' I've 
nearly broken her heart, and I can't die in peace. She 
was a good mother to me — oh ! so good a mother ; she 
bore everything from her wild boy, and once she said — 

'' ' My son, when you come to die, you will remember 
this.' 

" Oh, if I could only see my mother ! " 

52 



''MY MOTHER" 



He never saw his mother. He died with the yearn- 
ing cry upon his Hps, as many a one has died who 
sHghted the mother who loved him. The waves roll 
over him, and his bones whiten at the bottom of the 
sea, and that dread cry has gone before God, there to 
be registered forever. 



S3 



Dangers of City Life 

A few pages abstracted from the history of a promi- 
nent Cincinnati Gentleman. 

'' The solidity of a cylinder is equal to the product of 
its base by its altitude ; but the solidity of every pyr- 
amid is equal to the base multiplied by a third of its 
altitude." 

" That is right, Master Rush, and you may take 
your place at the head of the class. What has been the 
matter? What could have detained you from school 
during the past week ? We want you here as a pattern 
of a good student, and have noted your absence with 
much regret. What has kept you from school ? " 

''Well, Mr. Lee, in the first place, father was taken 
much worse, and while the family watched with him, I 
had to go over to Covington and attend to some un- 
settled business accounts, and then I had to go to 
Uncle William's, in Green township, and bring brother 
George to see father, who was considered in great dan- 
ger. These things detained me, and father being too 
sick to write an excuse, and mother not being able to 
do so, I could not bring a written one this morning.'' 

54 



DANGERS OF CITY LIFE 



" Oh ! give yourself no uneasiness, Master Rush, 
about the excuse; I am always wilHng to take your 
word for an apology, for I know that any one who 
loves school as you do would never remain longer 
away than was actually necessary. I am sorry your 
father is so unwell, and hope he may be speedily re- 
stored to health, and long life to bless your family." 

" Thank you, Mr. Lee." 

This conversation passed between a young lad some 
thirteen years of age, and his teacher in one of our pre- 
paratory colleges. 

Master Rush was an intelligent youth, with jet black 
eyes, and beautiful raven locks hanging carelessly over 
a wide forehead ; his physiognomy denoted a thoughtful 
cast of mind, and his pale complexion plainly told the 
over-burdened tax which his energies were under- 
going. He had been a faithful student for several 
years and had received, perhaps, fewer minus marks 
than any of his mates. He was the admiration of his 
teacher and beloved by all his associates. 

The conversation just related had barely ceased, 
when a messenger almost out of breath, informed 
Master Rush that his presence was desired at his 
father's bedside. The school room was filled with sad- 
ness, for as the boys saw the hot tears streaming fast 
over the cheeks of him who was called, they felt a 

55 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

consciousness that when he returned he iwould be 
fatherless. 

This impression proved too true, for the next day 
the death was announced, and the funeral passed the 
school house on its way to Spring Grove. 

An additional sadness pervaded the students in a 
few days afterwards, when it was learned that George 
Rush could not return to school, because his parent 
being poor he was compelled to engage in business to 
assist in the support of his mother and younger sister. 

It was an early age for an inexperienced youth to go 
out into the world to combat its wiles and chicanery. 
Little did George Rush imagine the intrigues of busi- 
ness and society. He was a plain, unvarnished son of 
an honest father who had designed a good education, 
in addition to his inheritance of a large share of com- 
mon sense. Now that his father had gone hence, 
George must carve out for himself a destiny, good or 
bad, as his inclination and association might lead him. 

In the heart of Cincinnati a proud edifice reared its 
magnificent proportions, whose opulent proprietor, 
through a business acquaintance, learned of George 
Rush, and, after an interview with him and his mother, 
agreed to take him into the store, and for the first year 
pay him ten dollars per month, which should be in- 
creased as his services became more valuable. 

56 



DANGERS OF CITY LIFE 



Apparently this was a fortunate situation for George. 
He was complimented by all his acquaintances, and 
many of his old mates almost envied his luck, but they 
loved him too well to wish him less success. The first 
year passed off pleasantly. George became the favor- 
ite of the firm, and of the whole body of assistants. 
Many Eastern capitalists who visited their Western 
customers several times a year, were attracted by 
George's brilliant manners and speech, and endeavored 
vainly to induce Mr. Golden, George's employer, to 
part with him. 

The second year wore yet more brightly for George. 
His salary had been increased to twenty dollars per 
month, the major portion of which his mother and sis- 
ter received, for the gentlemen made their favorite so 
many presents that he was almost thus enabled to 
clothe himself. The third year the salary was in- 
creased to thirty dollars per month, and George 
thought he would be enabled to lay up quite a sum. 
But alas ! how futile all his schemes ! He yielded to 
temptation, and gave his earnings to those who labor 
not. 

In the store with him, was a young man several 
years older than George, whom all highly esteemed, 
named Martin Hughes. He had formed the habit of 

57 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

gambling and had been secretly feeding his passion for 
several years. He had much influence over George, 
and by his insinuating manners and artful persuasions, 
induced George to try his luck once at the gambling 
table. 

" Only once," said he, '' to try your fortune. You 
can not tell but that the fates have decreed you to be 
as successful in roulette as in winning customers, and 
if they have, you should know it. Don't be such a 
coward now : you need put but a single dollar on the 
wheel, and perhaps fortune will turn out ten times that 
sum for you." 

'' But," said George, '' what would my mother say, 
were she to know I did so, and then Mr. Golden would 
soon give us both * walking papers,' were he to hear of 
our proceedings." 

'' Pshaw ! George," said Hughes, " there is not the 
least danger in the world of old Golden finding out any- 
thing about it, for I have been going to that Fifth 
Street concern over two years, and never a breath has 
entered his noggin, about it. To be sure, the watch- 
men see me there occasionally, but I slip a dollar into 
their hands once in awhile, or treat to the oysters, and 
that seals their lips. Come along, your mother will 
never know it, and it is nothing more than right you 
should get all the money you can, honestly, in this way 

58 



DANGERS OF CITY LIFE 



for her support ; you know she has to work to earn a 
Hving, and how poor a one it is, too?" 

George thought these things all over. He was not 
at all satisfied with the reasoning he had heard, but he 
had a thirst for money. He handled a great deal of it 
every day that went into his employer's pockets, but he 
thought too small a portion into his. He concluded to 
try his luck once, and so accompanied Hughes. This 
was the first step to his downfall. 

He was successful. He returned that night after 
winning one hundred dollars. It was past midnight 
though, and when he appeared at the store in the morn- 
ing his eyes told of debauchery, and downcast looks 
betrayed guilt. Any one who might have questioned 
him that day, would have found a penitent heart, for 
although he had been successful, his conscience smote 
him ; he felt like confessing his wrong and promising 
never to visit a gaming house again. 

But the redness of eyes wore away before night, and 
the gnawings of conscience before another moon, for 
he had frequently visited the saloon. He had not, 
however, been successful, and nearly all his earnings 
were thus squandered. 

Time wore away ; as the fourth, fifth and sixth years 
passed, the salary of Rush increased so that at twenty- 
one years of age, he was receiving twelve hundred 
dollars per annum. 

59 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

George had carried on his secret habits without sus- 
picion, until one bright morning, when he came into 
the store with head tied up, and a pair of blackened 
eyes. He gave an account of how he was attacked 
while he was returning from the lecture the previous 
evening, by some one he did not know, and who he 
supposed mistook him for some one else. He had al- 
ways been considered truthful, but there was such an 
air of diffidence displayed that it revealed to his 
friends that something was wrong. 

A deep sense of shame pervaded the soul of Rush 
and he applied for a few weeks' recreation with some 
country friends, and thither he repaired. In the deep 
recesses of the forest he promised God that his future 
should be a different life; that he would forsake the 
gaming-table and ardent spirits, for both of which he 
had formed an almost irresistible passion. He returned 
to the city, much improved, and was cordially greeted 
by his friends at the store and at home. His resolu- 
tion, however, was of little avail for when his old asso- 
ciates surrounded him he yielded to their importun- 
ings and soon found himself in the grasp of all his old 
passions. 

His employers noticed his changed habits with mor- 
tification, for he had been an important pillar in the 
house, and would, in ruining himself, injure them very 

60 



DANGERS OF CITY LIFE 



much. They had not imagined, however, that he had 
become more than a fashionable wine-bibber, until 
sums of ten, fifteen and twenty dollars were missed 
from the safe at different times. This led them to look 
around and although loth to suspect their head clerk, 
yet circumstances led them to employ a confidential 
watchman who was directed to trace him after night- 
fall and report next morning. For a week Rush eluded 
the officer, who finally gave it up as a hopeless task, 
for, said he, '' although he enters one of our most fash- 
ionable residences, I never see him come out, and yet 
he is at the store in the morning before I am.'' 

That watchman did not know of the side passages 
and long subterranean walks which led from one 
street to another through cigar stores or coffee-houses. 

A month or two more was all that could be endured 
by Mr. Golden, of George Rush. He had no positive 
evidence of guilt, but it was evident that dissipation 
was one of his vices, for sundry bills of his from res- 
taurants for oysters, etc., had been sent there for col- 
lection. George Rush was discharged, and in his em- 
ployer's talk with him on the occasion he was given to 
understand that the missing money was unaccounted 
for. 

George protested with tears, but without effect on 



61 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

Mr. Golden, and with a blasted reputation, should the 
world learn it all, he left the store in despair. 

It had now come to the worst. George's first im- 
pulse was to leave the city without seeing his mother 
and sister, but natural affection prevented so rash a 
course. His presence had been rare in his mother's 
house and it was with some surprise she beheld him 
early in the day entering the yard. He reached the 
parlor, the door was open, and there mildly and gently 
looking down upon him, hung the portrait of his be- 
loved and deceased father. The recollections of his 
youthful days rolled with resistless tide over his soul. 
He saw himself again a little child upon that parent's 
knee listening to the tones of love and kindness which 
ever flowed from his tongue. He wept, and when his 
mother came she found her son sorrowing and repent- 
ant. What a seat of love is a Christian mother's bosom. 
Although grieved to her heart's core at the misconduct 
of George, as he honestly told her all, suspicions of 
which had before taken hold on her, she forgot his 
errors, his wickedness. Seeing his spirit moved by his 
good angel, she folded him to her bosom, and knelt 
beside him to ask guidance from above. 

A few days after his discharge, it was discovered 
two thousand dollars had been abstracted from the 
safe, and that Martin Hughes had absconded. There 

62 



DANGERS OF CITY LIFE 



was much consternation among the members of the 
firm. They held a consultation, taking into considera- 
tion these new and unlooked for circumstances. One 
development after another was made, showing that 
Hughes had often changed the figures upon the cash- 
book; and while that circumstance was yet staring 
them in the face, his landlord came in, and making 
some purchases, paid for them with an identical bill 
taken from the safe some time before, which had been 
purposely marked to detect the rogue. George's case 
was reconsidered, and it was concluded to reinstate 
him. A message was dispatched to Mrs. R.'s residence, 
with a note to George. He was found sitting with his 
good mother and sister at tea. A great change had 
come over him. It was evident from his manner that 
he had deeply repented of the course he had pursued. 
" Mother," he said, '' I have confessed my faults to 
you, and have received your forgiveness ; I trust God 
will also pardon my sins. I am fully resolved to lead 
a different life. Let us leave the city which has been 
the theater of my downfull. ^ly reputation is gone — 
the confidence of my employers in me destroyed. I 
will not attempt to vindicate myself from the false 
charges. No, I was never guilty of theft. Heaven 
knows I never hazarded any man's money only my 
own at the gaming table. In some new country ; some 

63 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

other western State, we shall yet be happy. I will be 
unto you a trae son and will yet make your heart 
bound with very joy/' 

Mrs. Rush embraced him while tears streamed from 
her eyes. 

" God has indeed heard my prayers/' said she, 
" trust in him, George ; he has promised to be a Father 
to the fatherless and the widow's Friend." 

They were interrupted by the entrance of the man 
bearing the note from Mr. Golden. George hastily 
opened it and read aloud as follows: 

" ' We deem it but justice to yourself and friends, to 
inform you of the defalcation of Martin Hughes, your 
store companion, who has rifled the safe of a large 
amount and departed, no one knows whither. Circum- 
stances impeach his action for a long time past — in 
fact, the crime of sundry petty thefts is fixed upon him 
unquestionably. We fully exonerate you from the 
suspicions which obtained your dismissal. 

^' 'Although not satisfied with your course of late, we 
think it is quite probable the association with Hughes 
has injured you. We have therefore agreed to recall 
you to the situation you occupied, and trust this will 
be a warning for the future ; for rest assured, had 
you been of temperate habits, we never would have 
dreamed of guilt. If you now feel that you can lay 

64 



DANGERS OF CITY LIFE 



aside your habits of dissipation, and devote your time 
to something profitable to yourself and us, we pledge 
ourselves to lend you the helping hand on all occasions, 
and will be happy in knowing our once faithful 
George, worthy the unlimited confidence and esteem 
of those who heartily desire his welfare. 

'' ' E. W. Golden & Co.' '' 

" The fruits of repentance have not been long ripen- 
ing, my dear son," said Mrs. R., whose cup of bliss 
seemed running over now. His sister entwined her 
arms about his neck and wept upon his bosom. 

"God is indeed gracious, I deserve not this," said he, 
" but I shall henceforth live to deserve only such." 

George Rush now walks among us with beaming 
eyes. We can scarcely imagine that the wealthy, tal- 
ented and philanthropic citizen was ever so near the 
city of destruction. He is a man of active benevolence 
and is often seen in the by-ways of our city dispensing 
charity to the needy, uttering words of encouragement 
to the desponding, and cheering the homes of the 
fatherless. When he sees the tide of public opinion 
surging heavily against a sinful brother he says to the 
accusers, " Be still ; he whom you crush is mortal and 
has fallen, perhaps not until after more temptations 
than would have dragged you below him." He par- 
ticularly directs his efforts against gaming houses and 



65 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

fashionable tippling saloons. Let the keepers of those 
dens of vice tremble, for with such energetic men as 
George Rush Iheaving the battering ram of Right, their 
sandy foundations must fall. The days of their pros- 
perity will soon be numbered; the Temples of Truth 
will be erected upon the ruins of Satan's Palaces. 



66 



The Drunkard and His Horse 

Some years ago I took a stroll on one of the beautiful 
drives in the outskirts of Montpelier, Vermont. Whilst 
admiring the exquisite panorama before me, my ears 
caught the sound of approaching wheels, and soon 
appeared a small sorrel horse hitched to a buggy in 
which was a large young man standing up, and lashing 
the horse with all his might with a long, cruel horse- 
whip. The poor creature was covered with sweat and 
foam, and had evidently been driven for some time at 
his utmost speed, and seemed almost ready to drop 
from exhaustion. They passed like a flash, the incar- 
nate fiend flogging the horse at every step, until they 
were out of sight. 

I made some inquiry as to the young man and found 
that he lived in the neighborhood, that he inherited 
from his father, who was a confirmed drunkard, an 
uncontrollable appetite for liquor, which at times took 
possession of him for days, and during his debauches 
he was a veritable maniac. He was in one of those 
debauches when the incident above related occurred. 

Years before the young man had formed an attach- 
ment for a beautiful girl, who reciprocated his aflfection, 

67 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

for when from under the power of his fearful appetite, 
he was of an amiable and pleasing disposition. 

But the knowledge of his terrible inherited appetite 
for liquor and his periodical debauches caused her to 
resist his importunities of several years, but at length 
she yielded and became his wife. Can hell picture a 
more pitiable and revolting scene than a home where 
such a man, bereft of reason, and maddened by drink 
should be privileged to enter as his own domicile? 



68 



The Mysterious Gambler 

A travelling man in a reminiscent mood related the 
following incident, which occurred many years ago : 

I made several passages up and down the Missis- 
sippi and Ohio rivers, and never without seeing on 
board the steamers one or more professional gamblers. 
It was thriving business on the boats where time hung 
heavily on the hands of the passengers, and the gam- 
blers carried off large sums of money. They usually re- 
mained on board but a day or two, — long enough to 
have their true character exposed. 

These gamblers had become such an intolerable 
nuisance, that the captains of the boats did not know- 
ingly permit one to come on board; and not unfre- 
quently, a brace of them were landed in the woods 
when their profession was discovered. 

During one of my trips, the boat put in at the mouth 
of the Arkansas river, and, as usual I took a stroll on 
the shore. I heard the bell for the departure of the 
steamer, and hastened back to the landing. As I was 
on my way, I was overtaken by a man with a broad 
brimmed hat, green goggles, and a white neckcloth, 
tugging along with a large valise. 

69 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

" I am rather late, am I not? " said he as he joined 
me. 

" True enough sir," I replied respectfully, for the 
gentleman was a clergyman, a Methodist itinerant, I 
supposed. 

" My valise is rather heavy, and I feared I should 
lose the boat." 

" Let me help you carry it sir.'* 

He accepted my civil offer, and I took hold of the 
valise, which was certainly loaded very heavily for a 
Methodist parson. In a few moments we reached the 
steamer, and I passed on board ; but my new acquaint- 
ance had accomplished but half the distance, when the 
plank canted, and he was thrown into the river. For- 
tunately for him, I was prompt in my efforts to rescue 
him, and he was drawn on board, with no other detri- 
ment than a thorough ducking. 

My friend, whom as I never learned his name, I 
shall have to call the Rev. Mr. Goggles, retired to a 
vacant stateroom. It was now nearly dark, and I did 
not see him again that night. 

As usual in the evening, there was a table in the cab- 
in devoted to cards ; in a word there was gambling 
without stint. No one objected to the practice, so long 
as it was not done by professional gamblers. I never 
played, but I often stood by the table to observe the 

70 



THE MYSTERIOUS GAMBLER 



progress of the game, and study the looks of the play- 
ers, as they were agitated by the fickle chances of a 
moment. 

While I was thus watching them I observed on the 
opposite side of the table a well dressed gentleman, 
who was regarding with eager interest the plays of the 
gamblers. He manifested a desire to engage in the 
place of one who had been ''cleaned out.'' 

It was soon apparent that the newcomer was a 
skilled player, and time after time, he swept the board 
of all that had been staked. In a short time his com- 
panions had enough of it and withdrew. He had won 
a large sum of money, and was evidently satisfied with 
his evening's work. 

He smoked on the boiler deck until all the passen- 
gers had retired, and then left. Much curiosity had 
been manifested to know who and what he was. No- 
body had seen him before, and nobody remembered 
when he came on board, and what seemed most singu- 
lar of all, he was not seen the next day, though the boat 
had not stopped during the night. 

The next day was Sunday, and at breakfast time my 
Methodist friend made his appearance. 

" My young friend, I have to thank you for the good 
service you did me last evening. I am poor; I have 
none of this world's goods. I trust that all my treas- 



71 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

ures are laid up in heaven. But the Lord will reward 
you if I cannot." 

" Don't mention it, my dear sir. I am happy to have 
been the means of saving you.'' 

We conversed a while upon the matter, and my 
friend then spoke of having a service on board, if 
agreeable to the passengers. Of course it was agree- 
able, and the parson prayed and exhorted with a zeal 
that would have done honor to the most celebrated of 
revivaHsts. 

The impression produced by the service, I am sorry 
to say, was not permanent, for when evening came, the 
gaming table was spread out as usual, and the games 
commenced. The mysterious gambler appeared again, 
much to the surprise of all, for it was believed that he 
had landed, or been lost overboard. He played and 
swept the board as before, and some of the weaker 
ones began to think he was the devil in disguise, and 
their belief was almost confirmed when the next day 
nothing was to be found of him. 

The passengers made him the subject of their con- 
versation, and quite an excitement was kindled. The 
captain swore, if he appeared again, he would throw 
him into the river. A thorough search was made for him 
but all in vain. My Methodist friend was especially 
indignant, and believed it would be a good plan to hang 

72 



THE MYSTERIOUS GAMBLER 



every gambler, as soon as his true character was dis- 
covered. I agreed with him entirely. 

One young man from Cincinnati was particularly 
distressed at the sudden disappearance of the blackleg, 
for he had, under the influence of an overdose of 
brandy, staked and lost a half eagle, which his mother 
had given him just before her death. It was not the 
loss of the money that distressed him, for he had plenty 
of that, but it was the association connected with the 
coin itself. There was a history belonging to it, he 
said, and he would give the gambler double the value 
of it, if he would return it, with a little ring which was 
attached to it. 

That evening to the disappointment of all on board, 
who were prepared to deal with him in a summary 
manner, the gambler did not appear. Man or devil, he 
had the means of knowing of the indignation his acts 
had caused. There was a strange mystery about him. 
Every port of the steamer was again searched in vain 
for him, and it seemed certain that he could not have 
gone ashore. 

The next day I was talking with the Rev. Mr. Gog- 
gles, not about the gambler, but on general topics. Of 
course, his life as an itinerant, was full of interest to 
me. He told me how cheaply he lived and traveled 



73 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

from place to place; that he was often hungry, and 
never had over ten dollars at once. 

'' I have only five, now," and to verify his statement, 
he took from his pocket a half eagle. 

I glanced at it. There was a hole in it, with a ring 
attached. It was certainly the property of the young 
man from Cincinnati. 

"What is that ring for?'' I asked. 

" This piece was given me by a women in Arkansas, 
who was converted under my preaching." 

The liar ! I had already made up my mind that he 
was an imposter, in short, that he was the mysterious 
gambler. Before dinner time, I had an opportunity to 
whisper to the captain, and while we were at dinner, 
his stateroom was searched. A large sum of money 
was found there, and many of the gambler's tools, as 
well as the dress the " unknown " had worn. 

" Parson, can you swim? " asked the captain as the 
Reverend Mr. Goggles came upon the boiler deck. 

"A little," he replied, with a demure smile. 

" You will have a chance to try ; I am going to throw 
you overboard." 

The captain took him by the collar, and explained 
the matter to the astonished passengers, who were 
quite ready to assist in emptying his pockets, and then 

74 



THE MYSTERIOUS GAMBLER 



throwing him overboard. The money taken from him 
was paid over to his victims. 

The last we saw of him, he was swimming vigor- 
ously towards the shore, cursing the captain with quite 
as much zeal as he had used in praying and exhorting. 

The young man from Cincinnati got his cherished 
coin, and I trust learned a useful lesson. 



75 



The Tragedy of a Family 

Many years ago, a few honest, persevering men es- 
tablished a line of steanjers to run on the Western 
waters. The enterprise was one of vast importance, 
and Providence seemed to favor in the selection of men 
capable of the task. Two of the leading men were 
thorough-going business men, and managed well their 
department, and soon enlisted others equally qualified 
in the management of the boats. The former partners 
not being blest with families from which they could 
occasionally fill a vacant office, were liberal in extend- 
ing their favors to such young men as they deemed 
worthy, while the latter introduced their sons and other 
relatives. Prosperity crowned their success, and even 
small stockholders were made rich. No pains were 
spared to please every social department of the travel- 
ing community by the officers of this line, from the 
captain to the cabin-boy; from the time the boat left 
her moorings at one port, until she discharged her 
passengers and freight at her port of destination, each 
filled the office assigned. And now for the moral of 
their indulgence in GAMBLING AND INTEM- 
PERANCE. 

1(^ 



THE TRAGEDY OF A FAMILY 

Captain S , one of the most prominent of the 

firm, was an old keel-boat man, and by all who knew 
him, was known as second to no man as a pilot or 
commander. To him was assigned the command of the 

first-class boat of the line. To Captain A , No. 2 

of the first-class. The commission business of the line 
was carefully conducted by two others of the firm 
equally qualified in their departments. Card-playing 
was common to all, and no man could be considered a 
good fellow among river-men at this date, who re- 
frained from the indulgence of gambling and intem- 
perance. 

As the managers of these boats were men of iron 
constitution and used to the hardships of the keel and 
flat-boat life, they naturally gave out to the men of 
their own class of moral education, the most lucrative 
offices, such as pilots, mates, etc. As the business in- 
creased, new boats were placed on the line, and cap- 
tains of social qualifications selected. Among the first 

of these was Captain E , by birth and education a 

gentleman. Captain E was much beloved by all 

who knew him, and was the favorite of his friendly 
employers, but as he had been differently educated, the 
dissipated habits of his Western companions soon made 
him a victim to a premature death. His place was 
filled by another, and his name was soon forgotten. A 

n 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

second, a third, and numberless were they who fol- 
lowed in his tracks, and were cut off by death, or had 
to abandon their offices for want of temperate and mor- 
al qualifications to fill them. Nor was the curse con- 
fined to the line of steamers alone. The counting- 
rooms of their merchants were infected, and one youth 
after the other dropped like the sear leaves of Autumn. 
All this time the school of GAMBLING and INTEM- 
PERANCE was kindly fostered upon the steamers. 
And what was still more revolting, the gray-haired 
father, the commander of one, might frequently be 
seen seated at the same gambling table with his beard- 
less son, contending for the mighty dollar, each dis- 
gusting their audience (even the gamesters them- 
selves) with their vile imprecations and vicious mani- 
festations toward the other. 

One of these, a beautiful boy, was placed in charge 
of the BAR on his father's steamer at a childish age 
and size, and taught to swear, drink liquor, and gam- 
ble. In size, intellectually or physically, the son was 
not equal to his father, who, we repeat, was by nature 
a good hearted upright man, and only for the want of 
a better, and moral, education, was prevented from be- 
ing capable of filling some of the highest and well-de- 
served offices of the nation. 

The boy (now a man in his own estimation) sought 

78 



THE TRAGEDY OF A FAMILY 

and won the hand of a beautiful and highly-respected 
young lady in the city of his nativity, and became the 
partner of her life in the joys and sorrows of earth. 
The indulgent father, immediately after his marriage, 
brought out a fine steamer, and placed him as captain, 
to run in connection with the other boats of the line. 
One trip proved his incapacity, and immediately a 
change of business was proposed by the father, and ac- 
cepted by the son. This was no other than the keeping of 
a gambling and drinking saloon in connection with the 
notorious Captain John Howard, who, some years 
since, was assassinated by a gambler at St. Louis, and 
whose wife (a deeply-injured woman) a few years pre- 
vious to his demise, while under the influence of de- 
lirium, cut the throat of his paramour, in the city of 
Cincinnati. Howard and his young friend soon dis- 
agreed, and dissolved partnership, the youth still per- 
sisting in his dissipation and villainy. He was now a 
father, a curse to his family, and a moral pestilence to 
society. His father now saw his error in the education 
of his son, and with despair ceased furnishing the 
means for him to gratify his profligate nature. The 
unfortunate wife of the trained villain was obliged to 
return to her father's house for protection against the 
ill-usage of her youthful husband. At this stage of the 
drama, another accession to the young FIEND made 

79 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

herself notorious; it was his mother: The morals of 
her life up to this period had not been the most pure, 
as had been clearly proved in the misfortune of her 
only daughter a short time after the marriage of her 
son. The complaints of the reckless son to the mother, 
of his misfortune, of the close-fisted treatment of his 
father, incited in her bosom a still deeper interest, and 
she took a stand in the son's behalf, the father still do- 
ing what he thought his duty to do, and holding out 
great property inducements for the reformation of his 
boy. The second son was now the old man's hope, and 
the two fallen children the preference of the mother. 
The daughter became the wife of a respectable young 
man, and this still added to the advantage of the prof- 
ligate son, through the designing mother, who, it 
was now placed beyond all cavil, had not the moral 
interest in her husband's welfare that her position as a 
wife and mother should have had. This fact being 

evident, occasioned Captain S much trouble of 

mind, and the dark hours of his existence appeared to 
be rapidly closing around him; age had already placed 
him within the twilight of eternity, and he was rendered 
one of the most miserable of men. But his bowl of 
bitterness was not yet full, which the sequel will show. 
During the terrible scourge of the cholera, when 
death was broadcast over the Western states, and the 

80 



THE TRAGEDY OF A FAMILY 

city where he resided was cursed beyond a parallel, 
while trembling for fear of the ravages of the disease 
upon his family, he seated himself and wife, daughter 
and her child, and some other friends at his table, to 
take tea, v^hen his fiendish son took the opportunity 
offered and placed arsenic in the tea-kettle, and the tea 
was poured out to each, and by this terrible crime the 
illegitimate grandchild and a very worthy lady were 
killed, and the remainder of the family barely escaped 
a horrible death after a long-protracted sickness. 

Young S was arrested, and after several years' 

impji^nment in the county jail, was convicted and 
sentenced to imprisonment for life in the Ohio state 
prison. The daughter was now a widow and the 
mother of several children, and lived with her parents 
in luxury and ease, yet, not satisfied, became infatu- 
ated with another woman's husband (the same was at 
the time a partner in a gambling and drinking saloon 
with her younger brother who was following closely 
in the footsteps of the elder) , left her children with her 
mother, and ran away with him — he leaving his family 
destitute. She soon contrived, through the assistance 
of her mother, against the knowledge or will of the 
father, to have her children sent to her. The expense 
of traveling and high life, soon brought her back to 
her father for succor, leaving her children with her 

81 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

" LIEGE LORD '' for protection. The father reso- 
lutely, and wisely, too, refused her any countenance in 
carrying out her base designs. The mother here inter- 
posed, but all to no effect, as Captain S still de- 
clined furnishing funds for such a base purpose. 
About the time this favor was required, Captain 

S 's boat was detained from port by ice, a few 

days, during which time he was suddenly attacked by 
a severe pain in his neck. The boat was on her way to 
his house, and as soon as he landed, his physician 
ordered him carried to his house; this was done. It 
was locked. Upon unlocking it, imagine the surprise 
when the dying man was told that his house was with- 
out fire, tenant, or furniture ; and that his home, which 
but a few days previous was so well-furnished, did 
not contain a bed upon which he could breathe his last. 
He was taken back to his boat, and there, in the berth 
of the boatman, he breathed his last, without having 
the presence of his wife, or a virtuous child to wipe 
from his brow the chiUing dew-drops of death, or to 
give his frigid hand one friendly grasp, or breathe one 
soft, consoling word in his ear. 

Thus closed the life of Captain S , bearing with 

it a terrible warning to those of the same company, as 
well as his numerous friends, to SHUN THE SO- 
CIAL GLASS, THE CARD-TABLE, AND OTHER 

82 



THE TRAGEDY OF A FAMILY 

PLACES OF VICE AND CRIME; learning, as they 
must, by this lesson, that '' the way of the transgressor 

is hard/' But Captain S is not the only one of this 

company from whom a moral lesson may be derived, 
and which time and room forbid us from bringing be- 
fore the public. But we leave the subject for the pres- 
ent, hoping that the object we have in view, that of 
laying these facts, may never be buried as long as one 
single moral benefit can be derived from their perusal. 



83 



Only One Glass 

A gentleman related the following incident which 
came under his observation, and which no doubt could 
be multiplied by thousands of similar instances 
throughout our country : 

A young man in a state of intoxication stepped into 
a saloon and called for '' a glass of beer." Noticing 
his condition the proprietor refused to sell him any, 
remarking that he " had already more than was proper 
for him." 

" Oh/' answered the young man, '' I have been try- 
ing to keep sober all day, and I can't." 

" Well, I can't sell you any beer, and you need not 
ask for it again." 

" Only one glass, here's your money." 

" Not one." 

" I am so thirsty — so dry." 

" Well, there's a glass of cold water, drink." 

Stumbling up to the counter, the poor inebriate 
drank a couple of glasses of water, and then turning 
around, said, " You are the first man that has refused 
me liquor today — I wish to heaven they all had." 

He put his hand into his vest pocket, and pulled 
tremblingly out a small miniature ; opened it, and gazed 

84 



ONLY ONE GLASS 



upon it for some moments. It was a daguerreotype of 
an elderly lady, upon whose face were strongly marked 
lines of care and sorrow — pale, almost marble, the 
countenance ; and the eye seemed to search his soul and 
speak with sad and gentle reproof to her son. 

" Oh, my mother ! " he said, '' how much sorrow, 
trouble, and unhappiness I have caused thee.'' 

His emotion was very great — at last tears came to 
his relief — he wept like a child, while upon the coun- 
tenances of those around were depicted sympathy and 
commiseration. At length he said: 

" I am childish, foolish, weak.'' 

He compressed his quivering lips, closed the minia- 
ture, put it in his pocket, and turned, tottered out and 
said: 

*' You won't give me a glass of beer — a glass to 
drown all ! " He paused. 

" No," was the answer. He was gone. 

" Had I many such customers," observed the pro- 
prietor to those around him, " I would take my beer 
pump and pitch it into the middle of the street. I wish 
the Maine liquor law would be submitted to us ; I, yes 
I, who derive a large profit from the sale of my beer, 
would vote for it, and that too, freely, willingly, hap- 
pily." 

" I came," remarked a bystander, " to get a glass of 



85 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

beer, but this fellow has so sickened my taste that more 
bitter than gall would be the stimulant should I drink 
it. Henceforth, since habit grows upon us unawares, 
and since habit is second nature, I will desist from tak- 
ing my occasional glass." 

Reader, to this circumstance transpiring in our own 
city, may be added hundreds of thousands daily occur- 
ring in our wide-spread country. Mothers, heart- 
broken-sisters bowed down to the dust with shame — 
wives subjected to all manner of misery and wretched- 
ness — ^the father in the county jail — the son bom only 
to lead a brief life of misery and sink into a premature 
grave. The evil is known — the remedy is found — root 
it out, eradicate it, or look to behold your own kin — 
your child perhaps — lost by the infatuating, maddening 
gulf of certain, and sure destruction. There is no al- 
ternative — ^man can not control his own taste and pas- 
sions. We have seen it in the past — the brightest, no- 
blest, most intellectual of our land have been victims. 



86 



Not Beyond the Power of Love 

Mr. Gough, in one of his lectures, proceeded to re- 
fute the idea that drunkards are so far brutes as to be 
beyond the power of Christian love, saying: 

No, they are not brutes, I have labored for eighteen 
years among them, and I have never found a brute. I 
have had men swear at me; I have had a man dance 
round me as if possessed of a devil, and spit his foam 
in my face, but, I never found a man I would give up. 
It may take a long time to reach his manhood, but he 
is not a brute. I think it is Charles Dickens who says, 
''Away up a great many pairs of stairs, in a remote 
corner, easily passed by, there is a door, on that door is 
written, ' Woman.' '' 

And so in the heart of the vilest outcast away up a 
great many pairs of stairs in a remote comer, there is 
a door on which is written " Man.'' 

Here is our business : to find that door. It may take 
a long time; but remember God's long suffering to 
us, and keep knocking a long time, if need be. Don't 
get weary if there is no answer ; remember Him whose 
locks were wet with the dew. Knock on — just try it — 
YOU try it; and just as sure as you do, just so sure 
by and by will the quivering lip and starting tear, tell 

87 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

you, you have been knocking at the heart of a man, and 
not a brute. It is because these poor wretches are men 
and not brutes, that we have hope in them. 

I once picked up a man in the market place. They 
said, " He is a brute — let him alone.'' I took him home 
with me, and kept the '' brute " fourteen days and 
nights, through his delirium ; and he nearly frightened 
my wife out of her wits, and he recovered his. 

He said to me : '' You wouldn't think I had a wife 
and child, would you? I have, and — God bless her 
dear little heart — ^my little Mary is as pretty a little 
thing as ever stepped ! " 

I asked : '' Where do they live ? " 

" Two miles from here." 

"When did you see them last?" 

" Two years ago." 

Then he told me his sad story. 

I said : " You must go back again." 

" I can't go back — my wife is better without me. I 
have struck her, and kicked her, and abused her. Can 
I go back again ? " 

I went with him to his house. Knocked at the door, 
and his wife opened it. 

'' Is this Mrs. Richardson? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" Well, this is Mr. Richardson. 

88 



NOT BEYOND THE POWER OF LOVE 

" Mr. Richarson, this is Mrs. Richardson. 

" Now come into the house." 

They went in. The wife sat on one side of the room 
and the " brute '' on the other. I waited to see who 
would speak first ; and it was the woman. But before 
she spoke, she fidgeted a great deal. She pulled up her 
apron, till she got hold of the hem, and then she pulled 
it all down again. Then she folded it all up closely, 
and jerked it out through her fingers an inch at a time, 
and then she spread it all down again; and then she 
looked all about the room, and said : 

"Well, William?" 

And the " brute " said : 

" Well, Mary." 

He had a large handkerchief round his neck, and she 
said: 

" You had better take the handkerchief oil, William, 
you'll need it when you go out." 

He began to fumble about it; the knot was large 
enough, he could have untied it if he liked ; but he said : 

"Will you untie it Mary?" 

She worked away at it; but HER fingers were 
clumsy too, and she couldn't get it off. 

While thus occupied, their eyes met — the lovelight 
was not all quenched — she opened her arms gently, and 
he fell into them ! 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

If you had seen those white arms clasped around his 
neck, and he sobbing on her breast, and the child look- 
ing on in wonder, first at one, and then at the other, 
you would have said : 

" It is not a ' brute,' but a man with a big warm 
heart in his bosom." 



90 



Intemperance 

There is no better or more forcible description of 
intemperance, than that given by St. Augustine, who 
calls it, ''A distemper of the head ; a subversion of the 
senses ; a tempest of the tongue ; a storm in the body ; 
a shipwreck of virtue; a loss of time; a wilful mad- 
ness ; a pleasant devil ; a sugared poison ; a sweet sin, 
which he that has it, has not himself ; and he that com- 
mits it, doth not only commit sin, but he himself is al- 
together sin.'' '' Intemperance has been aptly called/' 
saith Flavel, " the devil's bridle, by which he turneth 
sinners which way he pleases ; he that is overcome by 
it can overcome no other sin." Among the heathens, 
he was counted the best man who spent more oil in the 
lamp than wine in the bottle. Tertullian says of the 
primitive Christians : '' They sat not down before they 
prayed ; they ate no more than might suffice their hun- 
ger; they drank no more than was sufficient for tem- 
perate men ; they did not eat and drink, as those that 
remembered that* they must pray afterward." 



91 



Hawkins and the Pledge 

A few years ago, there lived in Baltimore a family 
by the name of Hawkins. They had been in better cir- 
cumstances, but were reduced through drunkenness of 
the father. There was a public house in one of the 
lanes in Baltimore, where every day five or six com- 
panions used to assemble, to guzzle all day long. Haw- 
kins was one of this set, and although he cursed it, and 
cursed himself for his weakness in going there, yet it 
clung to him like a curse ; and every day he went there, 
and only came thence, when he was no longer able to 
stand, and late in the evening or in the night, stagger- 
ing home, often falling on the steps, where he must 
have remained lying, and have perished of cold and 
wretchedness had it not been for his daughter, little 
Hannah. She sat up till she heard him coming home, 
and then went out to meet him and help him up the 
steps, and when he fell down, and she was not able to 
raise him, she carried down pillows and a bed cover, 
and made him a bed where he lay, doing all in her 
power to make him comfortable, and then lay dowm 
beside him. The wife, who in her despair had grovm 
weary of striving with him, endeavored by her own 
labor to maintain herself and children. Little Han- 



92 



HAWKINS AND THE PLEDGE 



nah, however, ten years old, did not grow weary but 
still watched over her father, and devoted to him her 
childish affection. When in the morning he awoke out 
of his drunkenness, he used immediately to send the 
little girl to get him some brandy, and she did as she 
was bid, when her prayers could not prevail with him to 
abstain. She succeeded not only in awakening in him a 
stronger sense of his misery, but the need there was 
for him to forget it. He cursed himself for being so 
unworthy a father to such a child to give him the drink 
which would drown his misery. And when he, by 
means of the fresh, fiery liquor, was revived and invig- 
orated so that he could stand and walk, he again went 
to the ale-house. Such was his life for a long time — a 
lengthened chain of misery and self-accusation, inter- 
rupted merely by fresh debauch. The family had 
sunk into the depths of poverty, and each succeeding 
day only added to their distress. 

One morning when Hawkins, ill both in body and 
mind, after the carouse of the foregoing day, awoke 
in his bed, he desired Hannah, as usual, to get him 
some brandy. But the girl would not go. She be- 
sought him earnestly. 

"Dear father," she said, ''not today — not today, 
dear father,'* and she wept bitterly. 

The father, in extreme anger, bade her leave the 

93 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

room. He got up with staggering steps and crawled 
down to the usual place. 

Here, in the meantime, an extraordinary scene had 
occurred — one which is difficult to explain, except by 
a mysterious and higher intervention. The drunken 
companions were already there, with filled glasses in 
their hands, when one of their number said: 

'' It is very foolish of us, though, to sit here and ruin 

ourselves merely for the good of /' meaning the 

master of the public house. 

The others agreed. Some of them said: 

'^ Suppose that from this day forth we were not to 
drink another drop ? " 

One word led to another. The men hastily made an 
agreement and drew up a paper, in which they bound 
themselves to a total abstinence from all intoxicating 
Hquors. 

When Hawkins, therefore, entered the public house, 
he was met by his companions with the temperance 
pledge in their hands, and by the cry from all — 

" Sign it ! sign i-t ! '' 

Astonished and overpowered, almost beside himself, 
he added his name to that of the others. Without hav^ 
ing asked for a drop of brandy, he now hastened home, 
as if from a new sort of carouse. He found his wife 



94 



HAWKINS AND THE PLEDGE 



and daughter together. He threw himself upon a 
chair, and could only ejaculate — 

"It is done!" 

His paleness and bewildered aspect terrified them. 
They asked him what he had done. 

" I have signed the pledge/' exclaimed he at length. 

Hannah, and liis wife, threw themselves upon his 
neck. They all wept tears of new delight. 



9i 



Advice to Young Men 

A distinguished writer says : " In the course of my 
travels I have seen many a young man gradually led 
to dissipation, gambling and ruin, merely by want of 
means to make a solitary evening pass pleasantly. I 
earnestly request any youth who quits that abode of 
purity, peace and delight — his parental home — to ac- 
quire a taste for reading and writing. At every place 
where he may reside long, let him study to make his 
apartments as attractive as possible; for he will find 
a little extra expense, so bestowed at the beginning, to 
be economy in the end. Let him read the books in the 
place in which he lives; and above all, let him never 
retire without writing a page of original comments on 
what he has seen, read or heard in the course of the 
day. This habit will teach him how to observe and dis- 
criminate; for a man ceases to read with a desultory 
and wandering mind, which is an utter waste of time, 
when he knows that an account of all the information 
which he has gained must be written at night/' 



96 



The Father's Example 

'' Do not go out tonight, dear Ernest/' said Emma 
Walton, as she raised her sad, dreamy eyes tearfully to 
her brother's face; while his mother came, and laying 
her hand lovingly upon his arm, urged him to sit down 
again, and Emma, she said, would sing and play for 
them. 

Mr. Walton sat silently regarding the little group. 
They were his all, those three loved ones. What 
brought that look of agony across his noble features 
as his eye rested upon the form of his only son, the 
pride of his life, the hope of his age? Did he read 
his own condemnation in the restless, wandering eye 
and impatient bearing of his boy, as he shook his 
mother's hand rudely from him, and passed from the 
door into the street? We shall see. 

Mr. Walton was a noble specimen of a gentleman, 
in every sense of the word. He had been reared where 
the wine circulated freely in the social circle, and when 
at length, he married his gentle wife, and they had an 
establishment of their own, the ample sideboard of 
choice liquors was not wanting. Mr. Walton was, 
nevertheless, a temperance advocate, and would have 
been horrified at the idea of becoming intoxicated. 

97 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

Time passed delightfully on to the little home circle 
of four, as we have seen. Ernest was the eldest — an 
ardent, noble, loving boy of fourteen, with his father's 
luxurious tastes strengthened without restraint. But, 
lacking his father's firmness of purpose, he inherited 
his mother s gentle, pliable temper, which might prove 
fatal to his happiness. 

Emma was a lovely girl of twelve summers, with 
large, soft, shadowy blue eyes, looking like lakes sleep- 
ing beneath mountain mists ; a gentle, half-sad expres- 
sion about the delicate lips, but with a lofty, command- 
ing brow, which contrasted strangely with the ex- 
quisitely delicate contour of her face, showing you at 
once the relationship she bore to her father. 

Such was the state of this interesting family of six 
years previous to the time our story commences. But 
now we see the picture changed. The outward sur- 
roundings are the same, to be sure; but where is the 
light and joy of the home circle? Care and grief sit 
heavily upon the once smooth brow of the wife and 
mother. Emma, too, is somewhat changed, and, though 
fairer and more beautiful, even, than before, yet there 
is a scarcely perceptible shade of sadness resting upon 
that noble brow. Even Mr. Walton, with all his blind 
idolatry for his loved ones, can not hide the truth from 
himself this night, that Ernest, his darling boy, is 

98 



THE FATHER'S EXAMPLE 



ruined, degraded, and, unless snatched quickly from 
the danger, will be lost to himself and them forever. 

Ernest passed from the house, as we have seen, and 
rapidly threading the crowded street, was shut out 
from the world within one of the splendid saloons 
which disgrace the streets of our cities, and which are 
miserably imitated in every village in our country. 

Must we leave that dear brother within that gilded 
hell, while we return to the house he has left and the 
hearts he is breaking? Angel spirits can not guard 
him there, for the polluted breath of the fiendish in- 
mates would quite forbid their entrance. Turn we 
then to those he left behind. The mother sat her down 
passively, while the tear-drops fell fast through 
the thin fingers. Emma touched the keys of the piano 
gloomily, her thoughts following her erring brother, 
and her heart aching to bring him back to love and 
home. At sight of his wife's deep grief, Mr. Walton 
had dropped his face upon his hands, and was deeply 
buried in thought. He had never thought of himself 
as being the cause, in any way, of his son's dissipation. 
On the contrary, he had always warned him freely 
against mingling with those who frequent the haunts 
of vice, and, if precept could have kept him from fall- 
ing, he had been safe. But this night conscience as- 
serted its claims, and refused to be silenced. He could 



99 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

not drive the conviction from his mind, that he, him- 
self, the father who would sooner have died than in- 
jured his child, had placed the temptation before him; 
had thoughtlessly pampered and indulged and indulged, 
nay, encouraged, by his own example, that strongest 
of preachers — the natural appetite of his son — until he 
became an easy prey to those who seek for the youth 
of our land, to destroy them. Think you there was no 
agony in that father's heart, as he thus reviewed the 
past, and now beheld its dreadful consequences ? "Ah ! 
but he must be saved ! Tonight will I seek him, and 
bring him back to our arms ! My God ! how is it pos- 
sible that I have never seen my guilt before ? Ernest, 
my son, forgive the great wrong thy father hath done 
thee ! and Heaven help me to save my boy ! " 

Such were the thoughts that rushed through Mr. 
Walton's mind as, taking his hat, he strode hastily 
from the house, and passed rapidly along the street till 
he entered the saloon where he thought to find his 
Ernest. As he entered the inner room he saw his sort 
playing with a man of twice his years, so deeply en- 
gaged that neither observed the entrance of Mr. Wal- 
ton. Ernest had lost all that he could command, and 
had already forged his father's note for large sums, and 
being angry and desperate, he accused his antagonist 
of unfair play. This roused the demon which wine 

100 



THE FATHER'S EXAMPLE 



had rendered ungovernable; they proceeded to high 
and haughty words, and the dark Southern gambler 
drew a knife, and would have pierced him to the heart, 
had not his father at this moment rushed between them, 
and, throwing himself upon his son's neck, received the 
full force of the blow, which proved immediately fatal. 
Ernest was sobered in an instant. Who can tell the 
horror and anguish of that one moment of conscious- 
ness ? His father murdered in his arms ! The forms of 
his mother and sister came up before him, and he be- 
came insensible. 

They bore them home, the father and son. Weeks 
of delirium and agony passed, and Ernest rose again to 
new life. He was saved, but oh what a sacrifice was 
made to save him ! But could Mr. Walton repair that 
great wrong he had done, even with his life-blood? 
See the anguish of the bereaved wife and daughter! 
Hear the groans of remorse which forced themselves 
from the lips of a fatherless son, as he regarded him- 
self as his father's murderer. Oh ! ye parents ! lay not 
the flattering unction to your souls, that you escape, 
justified, toward your children, unless your own ways 
are cleansed from evil. Let not the father think to 
save his son from ruin, while his own example says that 
it is a good thing to " look upon the wine when it is 
red.'' This is not all a fancy sketch. How many, 

101 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

many hearts have been broken, and noble sons laid low 
in a drunkard's grave, from a father's example, the 
annals of eternity will only tell. Many things in the 
world conspire to lead our sons and daughters away 
from the path of right. But oh, let us have pure homes 
for our dear ones, where not only precept but example 
shall lead them to morality and religion. This is bet- 
ter than the discipline of church or state, because it is 
the first to reach the young mind, and consequently 
the most enduring. Particularly, let those parents who 
have taken upon themselves the vows of the church of 
Christ, reflect upon the subject. How will ye answer 
to the Judge of quick and dead, if ye " touch, taste, or 
handle the unclean thing " ? 



102 



No! No!! No!!! 

Can you say '' No ''? Millions can say '' Yes/' Not 
one in a hundred can say No! It is one of the first 
and highest accomplishments for a young man to be 
able, on all proper occasions, to reply firmly, kindly 
and decisively — No. Young men are constantly solic- 
ited to enter into plans or pursuits for amusement, for 
the gratification of the passions and appetites ; for the 
advancement of doubtful schemes, or the abetting of 
evil practices, to which consent, once given, is prophet- 
ic of inevitable destruction. You are solicited by a 
gentleman of charming manners and fascinating ad- 
dress to take a game at some play for a trifling bet; 
you are snared, as the spider '' ropes '' in the silly fly, 
and you lay the corner-stone of the character of a 
" black-leg ;" and twenty years after, you will bear in 
mind what rich deposits were sealed up forever in that 
comer-stone, and woe, and shame, and worthlessness, 
you have entailed upon yourself by not repelling the 
enchanter, and resolutely answering, No! 

You will be importuned to drink in all the plastic | 
phraseology of politeness, by men of wealth, fashion, ' 
and the learned professions ; but the current once en- 

103 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

tered ; the Circean cup once sought ; the voice of reason 
and conscience once hushed; and then you need only 
read the end of miUions to know your fate. We tell 
you there is no hope, nor safety, except in a cour- 
ageous negation. Tell every man No ; and, though you 
may offend, you will triumph. Heaven and good men 
will sustain you. Beware of the enchanted ground. 

The merchant has closed a trade with a customer ; 
and turning to him with a smiling face and most affec- 
tionate air, says : " Now do me the honor, sir, to take a 
' refresher ' of a little the oldest and the best the land 
affords." The customer hesitates. At home he is a 
Presbyterian, a Baptist, a Methodist, an Episcopalian. 
He lingers ; stutters ; but the merchant has him by the 
arm, and, like a bailiff with his victim, marches him 
off. Poor, inconsistent, weak, irresolute man ; he could 
not speak it out. No, was in his heart, crying from 
every sensibility; consistency, manliness, example, all 
cried No ! but he had not the utterance ; he could not 
speak it. On he goes, like a bullock to the shambles, 
and — drinks ! True, the single drink was a bagatelle ; 
but, then, he hangs out the white flag at home, at 
church, at the pleasure party in his own vicinity; but 
feels the ineffable curse of inconsistency when abroad. 
He learns to despise himself; he has cause; for the 
want of self-respect is the direct assurance of doom. 

104 



NO! NO!! NO!!! 



The man goes on to ruin ; leaves a sad legacy of shame 
to his family; all because he would not say No! 

A certain general once asked an acquaintance of 
mine to take a glass of wine with him. The young 
man never used wine, drank no liquor; but he was 
flattered by so distinguished a gentleman's attentions, 
drank, and when a ruined man, said he took his start 
at that point ; he could not say No. A friend said to 
an acquaintance of mine, *' Please endorse my note.'' 
He could not reply No ; yet he feared the consequences, 
and they came — sad, dark, ruinous. He was bank- 
rupted by that one signature — could not say No ! 

If the young man expects to succeed in business, he 
must learn to say No; if he wants to be honored by his 
neighbors and countrymen, he must learn to reply to 
pride, prodigality, passion, and all the thousand temp- 
tations from within and without — No ! 

The earth is full of wrecks. Every beach is strewn 
with them, and the fragments of precious cargoes are 
scattered, in mockery of early prom^ise, on a thousand 
barren shores, because young men would not say No! 

" If sinners entice thee, consent thou not." Play 
the man ; he is a hero that does it. Do right, and defy 
the world! Conscious rectitude is mightier than the 
chains that hold the stars to their moorings. And 
when you are dead, your eulogist will not be called on 

105 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

to wade through a life of filth to find, perchance, a few- 
paste gems on which to justify the paltry words of 
faint praise ; but he will tell the listening multitude that 
you were a philanthropist, and just; and could on all 
proper occasions, with gentleness and charity, and 
with a will, say No ! and it will suffice ; they will infer 
the rest ; your name can never die ! 



106 



The Old Story 

A young man named James Powers was hanged at 
Washington. Just before mounting the scaffold he 
bade his brother farewell, and said : — " Remember 
what I told you, let the liquor alone." The same coun- 
sel has come forth from a thousand scaffolds in this 
country, and its echoes are in many a prison cell. We 
waste much breath and ink in speculating upon the 
causes of crime and its extraordinary increase of late 
years. But the confessions of the criminal tell us the / 
whole truth of the matter. [It is rum that makes de- 
mons out of men of originally good impulses ; it is rum 
that is filling our prisons, feeding the gallows, and di- 
minishing the security of life and property. Under its 
accursed influence men who, when sober, would die 
rather than commit a dishonest action, scruple not to 
perpetrate forgery, robbery and murder. Of all tfie^^ 
propositions for the prevention of crime, we are strong- 
ly persuaded that there is none of equal efficacy with ; 
the simple advice of young Powers — '' Let the liquor j 
alone." 



107 



The Reformed — A True Story 

Mr. and Mrs. Raymond were raised in New En- 
gland, and were of the genuine Puritan stock. The 
mothers of both were left in widowhood, and the chil- 
dren passed the critical period of youth without the 
protection and supervision of the parent upon whom 
the most weighty part of family government depends. 

When young, Raymond was united in holy matri- 
mony to Ann Taylor, at the house of the village par- 
son ; so far as pecuniary interests are concerned, their 
fortune was to be made " out of whole cloth.'' They 
had, indeed, an excellent web out of which to cut a 
fortune, and they were in the possession of nerves 
hardened by severe physical labor, and rendered elastic 
by the confidence which honesty of purpose and inno- 
cence of life inspire. 

Some time after the commencement of the nine- 
teenth century, Mr. Ra>Tnond, with some half dozen 
children, emigrated to the " new country," some fifty 
miles west of the Hudson, in the State of New York. 
The fierce Mohawks had just gone ofif to Canada, and 

108 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

the fairest portions of the glorious '' lake country '' 
were occupied as the hunting grounds of '' the six na- 
tions." Mr. Ra>Tnond erected a log cabin in a glen, 
by the side of a beautiful little stream of pure spring 
water, the lofty forest trees waving in the breeze over 
his humble dwelling. By night the howling of the sav- 
age wolf would reverberate from hill to hill, and the 
scream of the panther would cause a quaking among 
the small herds of the neighboring farms. 

Hard-handed labor and strict economy supplied the 
necessities of the little group, which continued to en- 
large until it reached the goodly number of about a 
dozen members. In the meantime the first of a new 
race of missionaries penetrated these interior and se- 
cluded regions, and Mr. and Mrs. Raymond and two 
daughters, became subjects of a great moral change. 

This constituted the commencement of the religious 
era of this family. Mr. Raymond's humble dwelling 
was henceforward a sort of BETHEL, or house of 
God. Here the weary itinerant often found a resting 
place, and here was often heard the voice of prayer 
and praise, and here the people were often collected to- 
gether to hear the word of life dispensed in great sim- 
plicity and power. 

The Raymond family finally acquired a character, 
which however really enviable it was, nevertheless 

109 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

subjected the younger members to much small persecu- 
tion from their young companions. The family altar 
was ever kept up, and the morning and evening reli- 
gious service was a thing of course. Puritanical 
strictness was enforced upon all, and no immorality 
suffered to pass without a fearful RELIGIOUS reck- 
oning. Religious subjects and religious people were 
never made matters of jest. 

Withal, religion was here invested with charms, and 
not made inconsistent with good cheer and innocent 
amusements. Mr. Raymond had a generous soul with- 
in him, and a natural mirthfulness which rendered 
him an exceedingly agreeable companion to the young, 
and made him the life of his large family circle. He 
was a fine singer and performed well upon the flute; 
and after the evenings were spent in the cultivation of 
sacred music, which was always followed by prayer, 
they all retired to rest in a delightful state of mind, 
fully appreciating the bliss of true domestic union and 
sympathy sanctified by a vital Christianity. 

Henry was one of the younger sons, and when a 
small lad became the subject of religious influence, and 
gave good promise of a life of usefulness. All the 
elder brothers and sisters were now members of the 
same church, and great concern was felt lest the child- 
ish heart of little Harry should be turned back again 

110 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

to the vanities of the world. Harry was good- 
humored and playful, and, withal, unsuspecting and 
heedless. He was not dull nor slow to judge of the 
opinions which some entertained of his religious pre- 
tensions. At length the precautions and reserve which, 
however well meant, were doubtless premature and 
improper, seemed to him to indicate a want of con- 
fidence in his religious character, and seemed to chill 
the ardor of his feelings. Finally he lost confidence, 
and began to mingle with frivolous and irreligious 
company. 

Time wrought various changes in the Raymond 
family; death seized some of the most lovely of the 
circle, and others were settled in life and located at 
diflferent points. Harry was now the oldest son who re- 
mained, and he, in the natural course of things, began to 
be thrown into business associations, which were by no 
means favorable to the pious and sober habits which 
characterized the family. He was what in common 
parlance would be called '' a good fellow.'' He was 
never out of humor, never in a hurry, always ready to 
try his hand in a rivalry with the strongest and best 
which could be produced. Withal, he was a musician, 
and performed well upon several instruments, and was, 
of course, an object of interest and attention at mili- 
tary parades and other public gatherings. 

Ill 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

Now it was that Harry Raymond began to fall un- 
der influences of a most deleterious character. The 
drinking habits of many of the circles with which he 
mingled, gradually wore upon his moral convictions, 
and upon his resolutions to abstain, until he could take 
^' a social glass '' and become merry with those who 
were under the unholy excitement of the intoxicating 
bowl. The vigilant eye of true friendship looked with 
deep concern upon the perils to which poor Harry was 
now exposed, and of which he seemed not at all aware. 
But occasions of temptation were not frequent, and the 
general course of things was not materially varied for 
several years, and no very threatening events arrived, 
until he was united in marriage to Harriet Brenen, an 
interesting girl of eighteen. 

Mr. Raymond was now becoming somewhat ad- 
vanced in years, and naturally wished to give up the 
burdens of business. He had possessed himself of a 
small farm, of which his son Harry now took the 
charge. Young Mrs. Raymond became an inmate of 
the family, and soon imbibed the religious spirit which 
still prevailed among the remaining members of the 
family circle, which had now been extensively broken 
up. She found in old Mrs. Raymond A MOTHER 
INDEED — one who not only entered into all her sym- 
pathies, under the heavy and unexpected domestic 

112 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

trials which will soon be noticed, but who could give 
her spiritual instructions and consolation, as occasion 
required. 

The practice of " taking a little '' of the maddening 
draught increased upon Henry, until he occasionally 
became intoxicated, and was irregular in his return 
from the neighboring village, to which he now made 
frequent visits under the pretext of business. The ter- 
rible and long-expected event finally transpired. At a 
late hour Harry drove up and succeeded in getting 
into the house. His horses had been overdriven and 
neglected, and he was stupefied with drink and be- 
numbed with cold. There were two individuals, who 
had occupied each a corner by the fire, in mute sorrow 
and breathless suspense, while the teapot sat upon the 
embers and the table was spread with what was nec- 
essary to supply the cravings of hunger. These two — 
the wife and mother — were the first to give the needed 
help to the nearly helpless object of many hours of 
indescribable solicitude. When Harry had been con- 
ducted to his bed, with many expressions of kindness 
and sympathy, his two guardian angels retired — not to 
sleep, but to have their imagination haunted, during 
the remaining hours of the night, by the repetition of 
the scene which had passed before them. That was a 
night of anguish, of tears, and of prayers, which can 

113 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

only be appreciated by the Father of mercies, who 
fathoms the depths of human sorrow, and counts the 
sighs of his children. 

The day which succeeded was a gloomy one. A few 
words of most significant rebuke from the wife and the 
mother, and the downcast countenance and sad pen- 
siveness of old Mr. Raymond, which always expressed 
unutterable things, were met by a confused expression 
of the countenance, and a vague glancing of the eye in 
dififerent directions, but with no angry words. It is 
enough — indeed too much — ^much more than I could 
wish — to say, that the same scene, with slight varia- 
tions of circumstances, was occasionally repeated. 
Admonitions and tender expostulations extorted prom- 
ises of amendment, which were kept for a time, longer 
or shorter, according to circumstances, but were finally 
broken. 

The terrible, the astounding facts were brought to 
the knowledge of brothers and sisters abroad, and a 
sense of deep mortification, as well as a feeling of 
heart-breaking sorrow, passed through the entire fam- 
ily circle. Family pride was wounded, and, in some 
instances, some little indignation for the moment was 
indulged. Why is it that our lovely circle must be 
disgraced with one recreant member, and one who pos- 
sessed so many excellent natural qualities, and for 

114 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

whom so much has been done by the providence of 
God, by religion, by friends? was often asked. But 
the matter finally resolved itself into a RELIGIOUS 
question, and resort was had to prayer, and earnest 
personal appeal. All prayed to the God who has the 
hearts of men in his hands for help in the great emer- 
gency, while wife, father, mother, brothers, and sisters, 
in turn, exhorted and warned Henry, in the most 
affectionate and melting strains. 

About this time he received a letter from James, 
which concluded in this wise : " And now, my dear 
Henry, I pray you to hear me willingly for a moment, 
in a matter which presses more heavily upon my heart, 
and is of more solemn interest to you than anything 
beside. You will anticipate the subject — It is YOUR 
COURSE OF LIFE. I trust you have not forgotten 
that you have a wife, parents, brothers and sisters, who 
naturally care for you, and feel a deep interest in what 
concerns your honor and happiness. Nor can you 
have altogether forgotten that you have a soul which 
will live when the world, and all within it, shall be con- 
sumed. But is your conduct consistent with anything 
like a rational conviction of these facts ? Are you not 
breaking the hearts of the WIFE of your youth and 
the MOTHER who bore you ? Are you not mortify- 
ing and grieving all of us to death ? More, are you not 

115 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

hastening to an awful account after death? O, my 
dear brother, how can we give you up ! Have mercy 
upon us — have some pity upon yourself — and break 
off your absurd and ruinous course — and turn about 
while you may, and live. Could I take you in my arms 
this moment, I would bathe your brow with my tears, 
and would, if you would allow me, bring you to our 
common Savior, and see you again united to his fold. 
What, my dear Henry, shall I say to prevail upon you 
to forsake your ruinous course, and return to your 
duty? Let me assure you that prayers and tears will 
follow you to the last. God grant that they may not 
be swift witnesses against you in a day of judgment. 

" As ever, your affectionate brother." 

As Henry's eyes ran hastily over the lines of this 
letter, his heart palpitated, his countenance changed, 
first being deeply flushed, then turning pale as a corpse 
— and when he had read the last word, his hand which 
held the letter fell into his lap, and the tears coursed 
down his cheeks. He rose up and walked off to a re- 
tired spot, where he alternately wept immoderately, 
and made strong efforts to brace himself up, and re- 
cover his wonted indifference. He, however, resolved 
that he would never again be seen intoxicated. 

This purpose was adhered to for several months, but, 
in an evil hour, he was again overcome, and now he 

116 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

seemed more fatefully prostrated than ever. The 
efforts of friends were again renewed, and they finally 
succeeded in prevaiHng upon the object of their solici- 
tude to " sign the pledge/' Strong hopes were now 
entertained that Henry would not relapse. For months 
he was as sober and industrious as ever, and the family 
seemed to think the danger had passed over, and felt 
their hopes assured. 

The consternation of the Raymond family, and their 
sympathizing friends, may be better imagined than 
described, upon the dreadful event of another lapse 
of poor Henry. Circumstances transpired, which are 
so common and well known that they need not be 
described, which proved more than a match for the 
strength of purpose and the power of conscience, 
which, in this case, had been too much relied upon, 
and down went the unfortunate victim of a rampant 
appetite, deeper than ever, into the mire of intemper- 
ance. Henry now lost his self-respect, and, to a most 
fearful extent, his respect for the feelings and admon- 
itions of his friends. He spent days and weeks from 
home — he lounged about rum shops and country 
towns, until he became an object of general commiser- 
ation. 

Many now gave up Harry Raymond for lost. His 
youthful companion almost lost heart, and scarcely 

117 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

knew how to brook the evils which she suffered. Old 
Mr. Raymond often groaned out, " Poor Harry is 
ruined — and I fear, will never be recovered." But 
there was one heart that held out — supported by faith 
and hope — graces which had been tried as in the fire, 
and which, at this period of life, had ceased to falter. 
And whose heart was this but that of the MOTHER 
of the unfortunate and apparently ruined victim of a 
monster vice? The heart of the MOTHER felt most 
keenly the fearful situation of the object of her solici- 
tude — she was not blind to his dangers or his faults — 
she saw the impotency of human resolutions, and all 
motives founded upon mere self-respect or worldly 
prospects in a struggle with an overpowering appetite 
for the intoxicating draught; but she knew full well 
the efficacy of prayer. Her dependence was upon God 
alone, and not upon plans of man's devising. She 
never, for a moment, gave up " poor Harry ;'' but de- 
spite of all the discouraging circumstances which 
arose, she persisted in believing, and in declaring, that 
'' her prodigal son would finally return.'' 

In the meantime, no efforts were spared to awaken 
the conscience, to alarm the fears, and to rekindle the 
domestic feelings of the inebriate. Whenever he 
came home — at whatever hour of the day or night — 
under whatever circumstances — however degraded and 

118 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

disg'usting his appearance, he always met a kind recep- 
tion, and found prompt provisions made for his press- 
ing wants. When he had recovered himself from a 
state of entire or partial intoxication, he was then 
kindly expostulated with, and urged to " stay at home," 
and give the family the pleasure of his company, and 
the benefit of his help upon the farm. These " cords 
of love " would restrain him for awhile; but the stem 
demands of a morbid appetite would finally break them 
asunder, and the victim would again find himself 
bound within the folds of the monstrous serpent 
whose coils are as crushing as those of the merciless 
anaconda, and whose venom is cruel as the grave. 

Prayer was made unceasingly for poor Henry. He 
was formally remembered in the morning and evening 
services. The case was carried to God in secret by a 
large circle of relatives and acquaintances; and often 
in the social prayer-meeting was fervent intercession 
offered up to God for the same object by a score of 
earnest, believing Christians. 

Several of Mr. Raymond's family were located in 
the neighborhood, and Catherine Dunbar was one. It 
happened that on a beautiful morning, Henry Ray- 
mond came to his sister's house unusually sober, es- 
pecially considering that he had been absent from home 
for a week or more. While a breakfast was being pre- 

119 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

pared for him^ he sat in the corner in a pensive mood, 
and, after he had taken his breakfast, he resumed the 
same position, and seemed lost in thought. Catherine 
finally interrupted his revery with a proposition which 
seemed to astonish him. '' Harry," said she, " come 
go with me to the meeting this morning ; we are hav- 
ing very interesting services at the church." " Me go 
with you to church!" answered Henry; "that would 
be of no use— NOBODY CARES ANYTHING 
ABOUT ME?" "Dear Harry," rejoined Catherine, 
" how can you think so ! Have we not all given you 
evidence enough of our regards, and our anxious de- 
sires for your welfare ? " Henry hung his head, and 
with quivering lips and broken utterances, rejoined: 
" I am not fit to be seen in decent company ;" and look- 
ing upon himself as though until that moment he had 
been perfectly insensible to the condition of his person, 
added : " Kate, I have yet a little too much pride to 
show my head in the church in such a condition as this," 
''You are right, Harry, perfectly right," answered 
Catherine, '' and I can help you out of the trouble at 
once — wash yourself up, and Til furnish you with a 
good suit of clothes. You and Thomas " — her hus- 
band — '' are just of a size." " I don't know about 
borrowing a suit of clothes to wear to meeting," an- 
swered Henry. " My dear brother," rejoined Cather- 

120 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

ine, " it is no time for you to indulge in such foolish 
pride; this may be the last of your day of grace. 
Come now/' said she, taking him by the arm, '' do 
please me this time, and I will promise you that you 
will never regret it." Henry sat dumb for a moment, 
and then began to move as though he had consented. 
The suit was soon in readiness, and he was washed and 
shaved. The next hour he walked up to the church by 
the side of Catherine; and no little surprise was oc- 
casioned by his appearance. 

The pious old couple had been heard, that morning 
especially, to pray that God would reach the heart of 
their miserable son. They were seated when Henry 
entered; and it was to them the signal of a fervent 
ejaculation to God, that the wanderer might be awak- 
ened and reclaimed. The discourse was appropriate, 
and sank down into the hearts of many; and Henry 
Raymond was among those v^ho felt '' the Word of 
God, like a hammer, breaking in pieces the rock." He, 
however, managed to hold up his head until the social 
prayer-meeting came on. At a particular stage of the 
exercises, old Mr. Raymond, with his melodious, 
tremulous voice, struck up — 

"COME, YE SINNERS, POOR AND NEEDY "— 

when, quick as a flash of li^rhtning, a thousand old as- 

121 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

sociations were revived in Henry's mind. His heart 
began to melt ; and when the old gentleman poured out 
a flood of melting melody upon the lines — 

" If you tarry till you're better, you will never come at all; 
Not the righteous, sinners, Jesus came to call," 

the fountains of grief were unstopped, and poor Henry 
wept and sobbed aloud. A few encouraging words 
were whispered in his ear; and, after the service had 
closed, he returned with Catherine, silent and sad. 

The circumstance had electrified the assembly, and 
constituted the principal topic of conversation on the 
way home. The pious hoped, and the careless were 
astonished ; but none uttered a contemptuous word. One 
of Henry's companions, who was present, seemed to 
partake of the sympathies of the occasion. " Now," 
said he, " if Harry should take a religious turn, blame 
me if I think it would hurt him — for the fact is, he's 
getting a little bit too bad." Another rejoined: '* If 
he should come out strong, won't they have a time over 
at the old man's? I should like to be there, and see 
them carry on about five minutes." 

Old Mr. Raymond and his wife went home with an 
unusually quick step; and upon entering the cottage, 
the old lady said to Harriet (who had remained at 
home brooding over her troubles), 

122 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

*' Dear Harriet, what do you think ? Henry was at 
meeting and seemed much affected ! '' and leaning her 
head upon her hand, she sighed and said no more. 

When the tide of Henry's feehngs had subsided a 
little, he was the subject of severe temptation; and up- 
on being prompted by Catherine to return to the meet- 
ing at evening, he said : '' I think I'll not go this even- 
ing." '^ Go ; yes, Henry, do go," answered Catherine. 
'' The people," said Henry, " stared at me as though I 
had been an elephant ; and IVe no doubt they all know 
whose clothes I have on." '' Don't mind that, it's no- 
body's business, Henry; and, besides, I tell you they 
are all glad to see you there. Even Dick Simons made 
remarks upon the subject that would astonish you ; and 
besides, now, just recollect that all is at stake now you 
may turn the scale for woe or bliss by this one de- 
cision." 

Henry lingered, and Catherine implored; at one 
period he seemed finally to have resolved to decline to 
attend the meeting that evening. '* Kate," said he, 
" just let me stay here and read the Bible, and I'll go 
again tomorrow." Catherine thought she saw the de- 
vice of Satan in the proposition; and felt that it was 
the very point at which defeat would possibly be fatal ; 
and now she rallied and made a fresh assault. Throw- 
ing her arms around Henry's neck, she burst into tears, 

123 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

and exclaimed, " O, my dearest brother, can you 
thwart the hopes of father, mother, and Harriet — poor, 
dear Harriet — ^by one fatal step? I have just learned 
that Harriet will be at the meeting tonight, and, O, 
how disappointed and grieved she will be — '' " Stop, 
stop, Kate ! " said Henry, " I'll go, come what will/' 

He went to the meeting ; and there were all the con- 
nections and neighbors in a state of breathless anxiety 
to see how poor Henry Raymond would shape his 
course. Harriet, pensive and trembling, took her seat 
in a retired place, as much out of sight as possible, and 
waited the issue. The matter in Henry's mind was 
now settled. He had already broken ground, and he 
must go on, or, in all certainty, be a fresh occasion of 
grief to his friends, be jeered by his companions in sin, 
and probably be forsaken by God, and soon plunged 
into irretrievable ruin. At a suitable time he arose, 
and, with a trembling voice, confessed his sins, and ex- 
pressed his purpose to lead a new life. His story was 
brief, but it produced a wonderful effect upon the 
audience, and marvelously strengthened his own reso- 
lutions. He knelt down, and gave vent to the feelings 
of godly sorrow, while he audibly uttered the publi- 
can's prayer, " God be merciful to me a sinner." Many 
encouraging words were spoken to the returning prodi- 
gal, while fervent prayers were offered up for his de- 

124 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

liverance from the guilt of sin, and the power of an 
almost invincible habit. 

The service closed, and Henry joined Harriet at the 
door, and they walked, arm in arm, to the cottage. 
When all were seated, Henry made a most humble con- 
fession, and was proceeding to '' ask pardon " for all 
the wrongs he had inflicted upon their feelings, when 
old Mr. Raymond interrupted him with, '' My dear 
Henry, say nothing about us ; we have pardoned you, 
so far as we could, long ago; the most we are con- 
cerned about is that you have sinned against God. If 
he will forgive you — and we know he is both able and 
willing — all the rest will soon be settled." '' Ah," re- 
sponded Henry, " he can not forgive me, as I see, 
without abandoning his justice; for if ever a sinner de- 
served to go to hell, I do." Tears coursed down the 
cheeks of the venerable patriarch, and while he was 
trying sufficiently to recover his feelings to respond 
encouragingly, and Harriet was groaning and sighing 
from the bottom of her almost broken heart, old Mrs. 
Raymond, not being able to restrain her deep emotions 
any longer broke out in such strains as she alone could 
comm.and, under circumstances so calculated to carry 
away all the barriers of feeling. '* What ! " said she, 
" God not willing to forgive you, when we, poor crea- 
tures, so little like him, could not have it in our hearts 

125 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

to retain the slightest sense of the wrongs you have 
done, only as they affect your happiness? This can 
not be, my son. Like the father who ran to meet his 
poor, miserable son while a great way off, your 
heavenly Father will meet you in mercy, and freely 
forgive you all. Yes, he will; I know he will;" and 
turning to the old gentleman, she respectfully, but 
earnestly asked, " Father, shall we not have prayers ?" 

The old gentleman instantly bowed down, and all 
followed his example. He prayed in tremulous and 
plaintive tones, but in the language of assurance. 
When he had concluded, the venerable matron fol- 
lowed, in much the same strain, with the additional cir- 
cumstance, that she humbly asked God now to fulfill 
the promise which he had so often brought home to 
her sorrowing heart, that he would " bring home his 
banished." When the old lady had earnestly and sol- 
emnly said ''Amen," after a brief pause she said, 
"Now, Harriet, child, can you not pray?" Harriet 
uttered a few words and broke down. 

" Dear Henry," said the old gentleman, " now pray 
for yourself." Henry ejaculated, '' Save, Lord, or I 
perish. O my sins — my sins press me down like moun- 
tains ! Canst thou have mercy upon such a wretch as 
I am?'' and ended with broken utterances of sorrow, 

126 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

and some expressions which indicated an approach to 
despair. 

All retired ; but there was little sleep for the inmates 
of the cottage during that memorable night. In the 
morning old Mr. Raymond chose for the occasion the 
one hundred and sixteenth psalm. It was a perfect ex- 
pression of the feelings of the penitent Henry. When 
all bowed down in prayer, the patriarch addressed the 
throne of grace in importunate and confiding language, 
particularly pleading the promises made to those who 
are of ** a contrite spirit.'' This went to Henry's heart, 
and he arose from his knees with hope springing up in 
his soul ; he saw " men as trees walking.'' Light in- 
creased through the day, and the following night found 
Henry Raymond a calm, confiding disciple, at the feet 
of Jesus. 

Now the joy of the pious exhibited itself in the most 
free and tender congratulations. Henry Raymond was 
welcomed to the religious circles of the village, and to 
all the privileges of the church. All were glad, and 
all most cordially sympathized with the Raymonds. 
Even a certain class of wags seemed delighted, and 
often would remark, ''A happy turn this for poor 
Harry." '' Yes," another would add, " and I hope he 
will stick to his text." The news soon spread through- 
out the neighboring towns, and it was, of course, mat- 

127 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

ter of remark with the different classes of persons, ac- 
cording to their tastes and moral sentiments. Some 
predicted that his religious career would be short, 
while others ardently hoped for better things. 

The tavern keepers, for the present, at least, had 
lost a constant visitor ; and one of these heartless men, 
upon hearing of the conversion of Harry Raymond, 
dryly muttered out — '' It is ill wind that blows no good. 
I shall now be likely to get my grog bill, for Harry will 
go to work, and he's as honest a fellow as ever lived.'' 

All was right in the cottage. Henry set himself at 
work to improve the condition of things upon the 
premises, and to provide himself with decent apparel, 
while he lacked no aid which his wants required. His 
debts were soon discharged, and almost before he was 
aware of it, he had gained universal confidence. He 
was soon called upon in turn, to lead the family devo- 
tions, and to take an active part in social meetings; 
and when he opened his mouth to speak or pray, all 
were silent and solemn. Many who, on other occa- 
sions, showed little regard for religion, were moved 
to tears by his affecting appeals, and were often heard 
to remark — " Harry is now sincere, anyhow, whatever 
he does hereafter." 

All Henry Raymond's friends rejoiced at the mar- 
relous change which had taken place in his life and 

128 



THE REFORMED— A TRUE STORY 

conduct, but they ** rejoiced with trembhngs/' They 
did not immediately spread the matter abroad, by writ- 
ing letters to distant members of the family, but pru- 
dently set themselves to surround the object of their 
solicitude with every encouragement and help to con- 
stancy. 

In the meantime James, with a portion of his family, 
came to visit his parents, not knowing whether he 
should find Henry with the heart of a brother, if even 
alive. On reaching the neighborhood he met a friend 
of the family, who, after identifying James Raymond, 
earnestly asked. " Have you heard from Henry late- 
ly ? '' '' Not a word,'' was the reply. " Well, then,'' re- 
joined he, " I have good news for you. He is clothed, 
and in his right mind. He has experienced religion, 
and for the last six months has been as sober and 
respectable a man as there is in the town." This was 
*' good news," indeed. What the character of the 
meeting and the visit, the reader may judge. 

And now I end my story by saying that Henry Ray- 
mond was assisted in the matter of improving his edu- 
cation by his brothers. He entered the ministry in due 
time, and, ait the time of this present writing, for thir- 
teen years has been a faithful and successful laborer 
in the vineyard of the Lord. 



129 



Blood— Blood— Blood ! 

The land smokes with blood! There is a crimson 
glare by hearth and saloon. The cry of murder rings 
out on the night air, and the clots of its slaughter are 
thick upon the morning altar. The active hells of our 
country are belching violence and death. Midnight 
assassination strikes hands with noonday butchery, 
and together lift boldly their smoking hands to the 
public gaze. Half-chilled corpses are by the desolate 
hearth, and innocence wailing and sobbing upon lips 
which are cold forever. The enginery of the pit, 
driven by the power of the people, rolls on in infernal 
grandeur, and grinds to ruin the maddened hosts. The 
greenest, holiest sanctuaries of earth are wasting hour 
by hour by public sanction, and hopes of earth and 
heaven buried forever under the blasting scoria of the 
lava flow. The land is filled with woe, rottenness and 
death. And yet the people have not suffered enough ! 
The annual conscription of the accursed traffic must be 
met. Pauperism and crime must have fresh hosts. 
There are hungry graves to gorge, worms to fatten, 

130 



BLOOD— BLOOD— BLOOD! 



and hell to surfeit. " On with the slaughter/' shout 
the legislators and demagogues, and the people re- 
spond AMEN. There are still homes to be desolated, 
hopes to blast, and souls to kill. There are tragedies 
yet to freeze the blood, and sorrows to pall the earth 
with woe. Whisky must be made, sold, and paid for. 



131 



Charles Lamb 

This amiable, brilliant, and sociable genius has been 
almost canonized by the universal partiality of the lit- 
erary world. To suggest a fatal defect in his unregu- 
lated character, an inexcusable waste in his trifling 
career, a warning in his passion for sociable dissipa- 
tion or an insidious poison in his charming but lax 
writings, would be held little short of a sacrilege by 
most men of feeling and of this world. What editor 
of his letters and fragments has either withheld the 
Anacreontic rhapsodies upon drinking and GOR- 
MANDIZING, or had the faithfulness to render like- 
wise the record of the penalty, and of their author's too 
late remorse and humiliation ? We find in circulation, 
the following testimony attributed to his pen: 

The waters have gone over me. But out of the black 
depths, could I be heard, I would cry out to all those 
who have but set one foot in the perilous flood. 

Could youth to whom the flavor of his first wine is 
delicious as the opening scene of life, or the entering 
upon some newly discovered paradise, look into my 
desolation, and be made to understand what a dreary 

132 



CHARLES LAMB 



thing it is when a man shall feel himself going down a 
precipice with open eyes and a passive will to see his 
destruction and have no power to stop it, and yet feel 
it all the way emanating from himself ; to see all good- 
ness emptied out of him, and yet not be able to forget 
a time when it was otherwise ; to bear about the piteous 
spectacle of his own ruin ; could he see my fevered eye, 
feverish with last night's drinking, and feverishly look- 
ing for tonight's repetition of the folly ; could he but 
feel the body of the death out of which I cry hourly, 
with feebler outcry to be delivered — it were enough 
to make him dash the sparkling beverage to the earth 
in all the pride of its mantling temptation. 



i 



133 



"Thou Art the Man!" 

f " How can you reconcile it to your conscience to 
continue in your present business, Mr. Muddler?" 
asked a venerable clergyman of a tavemkeeper, as the 
two walked home from the funeral of a young man 
who had died suddenly. 

" I find no difficulty on that score," replied the 
tavemkeeper, in a confident tone. " My business is 
as necessary to the public as that of any other man." 

" That branch of it which regards the comfort and 
accommodation of travelers, I will grant to be neces- 
sary. But there is another portion of it which, you 
must pardon me for saying, is not only uncalled for by 
the real wants of the community, but highly detrimental 
to health and good morals." 

"And pray, Mr. Mildman, to what portion of my 
business do you allude ?" 

" I allude to that portion of it which embraces the 
sale of intoxicating drinks." 

"Indeed ! the very best part of my business. But cer- 
tainly you do not pretend to say that I am to be held 

134 



"THOU ART THE MAN!'' 



accountable for the unavoidable excesses which some- 
times grow out of the use of liquors as a beverage ? " 

" I certainly must say that, in my opinion, a very 
large share of the responsibility rests upon your 
shoulders. You not only make it a business to sell 
liquors, but you use every device in your power to in- 
duce men to come and drink them. You invent new 
compounds with new and attractive names, in order to 
induce the indifferent, or the lovers of variety, to fre- 
quent your bar room. In this way you too often draw 
the weak into an excess of self-indulgence, that ends, 
alas, in drunkenness, and finally in the ruin of both 
body and soul. You are not only responsible for all 
this, Mr. Muddler, but you bear the weight of a 
FEARFUL responsibility ! " 

'' I can not see the subject in that light, Mr. Mild- 
man," the tavemkeeper said, rather gravely. 

" Mine is an honest and honorable calling, and it is 
my duty to my family and to society, to follow it with 
diligence and a spirit of enterprise." 

" May I ask you a plain question, Mr. Muddler? " 

" Oh yes, certainly, as many as you please." 

" Can that calling be an honest and honorable one 
which takes sustenance from the community, and gives 
nothing in return? 

*' Consider then, society as a man in a larger form. 



135 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

as it really is. In this great body, as in the lesser body 
of man, there are various functions of use and reci- 
procity between the whole. Each function receives a 
portion of life from the others, and gives back its own 
proper share for the good of the whole. The hand does 
not work for itself alone, receiving strength selfishly 
and appropriating its quota of good to the general sys- 
tem. And so with the heart and lungs, and every other 
organ in the whole body. Reverse the order — and 
how soon is the entire system diseased! Now, does 
that member of a great body of the people act honestly 
and honorably, who regularly receives his portion of 
good from the general social system, and gives noth- 
ing back in return ? " 

To this the landlord made no reply, and Mr. Mild- 
man continued: — 

" But there is still a stronger view to be taken. Sup- 
pose a member of the human body is diseased — ^a limb, 
for instance, in a partial state of mortification. Here 
there is a reception of life from the whole system into 
that limb, and a constant giving back of disease that 
gradually pervades the entire body; and unless that 
body possess extraordinary vital energy, in the end 
destroys it. In like manner, if in the large body there 
be one member who takes his share of life from the 
whole, and gives back nothing but a poisonous prin- 

136 



'•THOU ART THE MAN!^' 



ciple, whose effect is disease and death, surely he can 
not be called a good member — or honest or honorable/' 

"And pray, Mr. Mildman,'' asked the tavemkeeper, 
with warmth, " where will you find in society an in- 
dividual such as you describe?'' 

The minister paused at the question, and looked his 
companion steadily in the face. Then raising his long 
thin finger, he said with deep emphasis: 

"THOU ART THE MAN ! " 

" Me, Mr. Mildman ! me ! " exclaimed the tavern- 
keeper in surprise and displeasure. " You surely can 
not be in earnest." 

" I utter but a solemn truth, Mr. Muddler ; such is 
your position in society ! You receive food and clothing 
and comforts and luxuries of various kinds for yourself 
and family from the social body, and what do you give 
back for all these? A poison to steal away the health 
and happiness of that social body. You are far worse 
than a perfectly dead member — you exist upon the 
great body as a moral gangrene. Reflect calmly upon 
this subject. Go home, and in the silence of your 
chamber, enter into unimpassioned and solemn com- 
munion with your heart. Be honest with yourself. 
Exclude the bias of selfish feelings and selfish interests, 
and honestly define to yourself your true position." 

" But, Mr. Mildman—" 



137 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

The two men had paused nearly in front of Mr. 
Muddler's splendid establishment, and were standing 
there when the tavern-keeper commenced a reply to 
the minister's last remarks. He had uttered but the 
first word or two, when he was interrupted by a pale, 
thinly dressed female, who held a little girl by the 
hand. She came up before him and looked him stead- 
ily in the face for a moment or two. 

'' Mr. Muddler, I believe," she said. 

'' Yes, madam, that is my name," was the reply. 

" I have come, Mr. Muddler," the woman then said, 
with an effort to smile and affect a polite air, " to thank 
you for a present I received last night." 

'' Thank me, madam, there certainly must be some 
mistake. I never made you a present. Indeed, I have 
not the pleasure of your acquaintance." 

'' You said your name was Muddler, I believe ! " 

" Yes, madam, as I told you before, that is my 
name." 

'' Then you are the man. You made my little girl 
here a present also, and we have both come with our 
thanks." 

'' You deal in riddles, madam. Speak out plainly." 

''As I said before," the woman replied, with bitter 
irony in her tones, " I have come with my little girl to 

138 



"THOU ART THE MAN!^ 



thank you for the present we received last night — a 
present of wretchedness and abuse." 

'' I am still as far from understanding you as ever," 
the keeper said — '' I never abused you, madam. I do 
not even know you." 

'' But my husband, sir, brought it from your bar last 
night." 

'' Surely, madam, you must be beside yourself. I 
have nothing to do with your husband." 

'* Nothing to do with him ! " the woman exclaimed, 
in an excited tone. '' Would to Heaven that it were so ! 
Before you opened your accursed gin-palace he was a 
sober man, and the best and kindest of husbands — but 
enticed by you, your advertisement and display of 
fancy drinks, he was tempted within the charmed circle 
of your bar-room. From that moment began his down- 
fall ; and now he is lost to self-control — lost to feeling 
— lost to humanity ! " 

As the woman said this she burst into tears, and 
then turned and walked slowly away. 

" To that painful illustration of the truth of what I 
have said," the minister remarked, as the two stood 
once more alone, '' I have nothing to add. May the 
lesson sink deep into your heart. Between you and 
the woman's husband existed a regular business trans- 

139 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

action. Did it result in a mutual benefit? Answer 
that question to your own conscience." 

How the tavemkeeper answered it, we know not. 
But if he received no benefit from the double lesson, 
we trust that others may; and in the hope, that the 
practical truth we have endeavored to illustrate, will 
fall somewhere upon good ground, we cast it forth for 
the benefit of our fellow men. 



140 



The Lawyer's Reformation 

The simple story I am about to relate possesses much 
interest for those who were ever acquainted with the 
parties concerned, and to others its interest will not 
only be in its truth, but also in the touching features of 
the story. 

In one of the northern towns of Vermont lived a 
young man whom I shall call Daniel Bryam. He was 
a lawyer by profession, and one of the most intellectual 
men in that country. No one possessed the con- 
fidence of friends more than he did, and no one was 
better calculated to secure the good will and friend- 
ship of all with whom he came in contact. Business 
poured in upon him, and he failed not to give the ut- 
most satisfaction. 

At the age of twenty-seven, Bryam took to himself 
a wife from among the most favored ones of the coun- 
try. Mary Felton experienced a strange pride when 
she gave her hand to the young lawyer, and if none 

141 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

envied her, many at least, prayed that they might be as 
fortunate. 

Ere long a cloud came over the scene. Conviviality 
ran high among the members of the bar, and young 
Bryam possessed one of those peculiar temperaments, 
which at length give the whole body and soul up to 
the demon of appetite. For three years he followed 
the social custom of the times without neglecting much 
of his business, but finally he sank to the lowest pit of 
degradation, when at the age of five and thirty, he 
had become a confirmed drunkard. He now neglected 
his clients altogether, for he could not remain sober 
long enough at any one time to carry any case through 
court. The only business he had now upon his hands 
was the collecting of some few small debts. 

On the evening of his thirty-fifth birthday he signed 
the pledge, and once more his bright genius shone out 
upon the world. But it could not last long; and 
among the examples of those who were his constant 
companions he went back to his cups, and down he 
sank, as rapidly as he had risen. In one short year 
from that time he was a miserable degraded thing. 
People who had left notes and accounts with him to 
collect called at his house, and upon enquiring of his 
wife where he was, she would tell them he was away. 
— Poor woman! they could not bear to dispute her, 

142 



THE LAWYER'S REFORMATION 

and they would go their way, though they knew full 
well that the remains of Daniel Bryam were prostrate 
upon his bedroom floor. 

One day a Mr. Vinson called to see him. Vinson 
had left notes and accounts to the amount of several 
thousand dollars with Bryam to collect, and he was 
anxious about them. His poor wife answered him as 
usual — that her husband had gone away. 

" My dear madam,'' returned Mr. Vinson, "I know 
your misfortune, and I appreciate your feelings, but 
I must see your husband. If I can see him for even one 
minute, I can learn all I wish to know.'' 

Mary Bryam spoke not a word, but with a tearful 
eye she turned away, and Mr. Vinson followed her. 
He found Bryam in a back room, stretched at full 
length upon the floor, with a jug of Medford rum by 
his side ! With much effort Vinson aroused the poor 
man to a state of semi-consciousness, and asked if he 
had done anything about the notes and accounts he had 
left with him. 

" Yes," returned the lawyer, in a weak, husky, hic- 
coughing voice. " I've had the money for you over a 
month. I've deducted my percentage, and you'll find 
the rest in that trunk. Mary's got the key." 

Mrs. Bryam was called in, the key was produced, 
and Mr. Vinson found his money — four thousand and 

143 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

some odd hundreds of dollars — all right and safe. 

In his worst moments Bryam never used for himself 
a single penny he held in trust. Hundreds there were 
who labored hard to reclaim the wanderer, but without 
effect. Year after year went by, and he sank lower 
and lower — yet his wife left him not. Her brother, a 
young lawyer, named Moses Felton, often urged her 
to forsake her husband, at the same timxe offering her 
a comfortable home beneath his own roof, but she 
would not listen. 

At length all hope was given up. Week after week 
would the fallen man lie drunk on the floor, and not a 
day of real sobriety marked his course. I doubt if 
such another case was ever known. He was too low 
for conviviality, for those with whom he would have 
associated would not drink with him. All alone, in 
his own office and chamber, he drank the accursed 
poison, and even in his very life seemed the offspring 
of the jug. 

In the early spring Moses Felton had a call to go to 
Ohio. Before he set out he visited his sister. He 
offered to take her with him but she would not go. 

" But why stay here ? " urged the brother. " You 
are all faded away, and disease is upon you. Why 
should you live with such a brute ? " 

"Hush, Moses. Speak not so," answered the wife, 

144 



THE LAWYER'S REFORMATION 

keeping back the tears. " I will not leave him now. 
But he will soon leave me ; he can not last much long- 
er." 

At that moment Daniel Bryam entered the apart- 
ment. Even Moses Felton was startled at his appear- 
ance. He looked like a wanderer from the tomb. He 
had his hat on and his jug was in his hand. 

"Ah — Moses — ^how are ye?'' he gasped, for he 
could not speak plainly. 

The visitor looked at him a few moments in silence. 
Then, as his features assumed a cold, stem expression, 
he said in a calm, but strongly emphasized tone : 

*' Daniel Bryam, I have been your next best friend 
but one. My sister is an angel — but mated with a de- 
mon. I have loved you, Daniel, as I never loved man 
before, for you were noble, generous and kind ; but I 
hate you now, for you are a devil incarnate. Look at 
that woman — she is is my sister — the only sister God 
ever gave me. I wish her to live with me, but she will 
not while you live ; yet when you die she will come to 
me. Thus do I pray God will soon give her to my 
keeping. Now Daniel, I do sincerely pray that the 
first intelligence that reaches me from my native place, 
after I shall have reached my new home — may be — 
that — you — are — deadT 

US 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

Bryam gazed upon the speaker some moments with- 
out speaking. 

" Moses/' at length he said, '' you are not in earnest/' 

"As true as Heaven, Daniel, I am. When I know 
that you are dead, I shall be happy, and not until then 
— so go on. Fill your jug ; and " — 

" Stop, stop, Moses. I can reform.'' 

" You can not. It is beyond your power. You have 
had inducements enough — enough to have reformed 
half the sinners in creation — and yet you are now 
lower than ever before. Go, and die, sir, as soon as 
you can, for the moment that sees you thus shall set 
mourners free." 

Bryam's eyes flashed, and he drew himself proudly 
up. 

'' Go " said he, with a tinge of that old powerful sar- 
casm that had often electrified a jury, '* go to Ohio, 
and I'll send you news. Go, sir, and watch the post." 

With these words, Daniel Bryam hurled the jug into 
the fireplace, and while yet its thousand pieces were 
lying over the floor — ^he strode from the house. Mary 
sank fainting to the floor. Moses bore her to the bed, 
and then having called in a neighbor, he hurried away, 
for the stage was waiting. 

For a month Daniel Bryam hovered over the brink 
of the grave, but he did not die. 

146 



THE LAWYER'S REFORMATION 

'' One gill of brandy will save you," said the Doctor, 
who saw that the abrupt removal of all stimulants 
from a system that had for long years subsisted almost 
on nothing else was nearly sure to prove fatal. " You 
can surely take a gill and not take any more? '' 

" Ay," gasped the poor man, " take a gill, and break 
my oath ! Moses Felton shall never learn that brandy 
or rum killed me ! If the want of it can kill me, then 
let me die! But I won't die! Til live till Moses Fel- 
ton shall eat his words ! " 

He did live; an iron will conquered the messenger 
death had sent, and Daniel Bryam lived. For one 
month he could not even walk without help. But he. 
had help — joyful, prayerful help. Mary helped him. 

A year passed away, and Moses Felton returned to 
Vermont. He entered the court house at Burlington, 
and Daniel Bryam was upon the floor pleading for a 
young man who had been indicted for forgery. Felton 
started with surprise. Never before had Bryam looked 
so noble and commanding, and never before had such 
torrents of eloquence poured from his lips. The case 
was given to the jury and the youth was acquitted. 
The successful counsel turned from the court room 
and met Moses Felton. 

They shook hands but did not speak. When they 

147 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

reached a spot where none others could hear them, 
Bryam stopped. 

" Moses/' he said, *' do you remember the words you 
spoke to me a year ago ? " 

'' I do, Daniel." 

'' Will you now take them back? Unsay them now 
and forever ? " 

" Yes, with all my heart." 

*' Then I am in part repaid." 

" And what must be the remainder of the payment ? " 
asked Moses. 

." I must die an honest, unperjured man. The oath 
that has bound me thus far was made for life." 

That evening Mary Bryam was among the happiest 
of the happy. No allusion was made in word, to that 
strange scene of one year before, but Moses could 
read in both the countenances of his sister and her hus- 
band the deep gratitude they did not speak. 

And Daniel Bryam yet lives, one of the most hon- 
ored men in Vermont. Five times has he sat in the 
State Legislature ; thrice in the Senate and once in the 
National Congress, and he is yet a noble man, and an 
ornament to society, declining all offers of public office, 
from the fact that his profession is more lucrative, 
while plenty of others want the offices which he cares 
not for. 



148 



The Professor's Advice 

Professor Benjamin Silliman, formerly professor of 
Chemistry in Yale College, in a lecture to young men 
at the Smithsonian Institution at Washington gave the 
following sensible advice, which all should read, re- 
member, and adopt: 

'' If, therefore, you wish for a clear mind, strong 
muscle, and quiet nerves, and a long life, and power 
prolonged into long age, permit me to say, although I 
am not giving a temperance lecture, avoid all drinks 
but water, and mild infusions of that fluid ; shun tobac- 
co and opium, and everything else that disturbs the 
normal state of the system ; rely upon nutritious food, 
and mild, diluent drinks, of which water is the basis 
and you will need nothing beyond these things except 
rest and due moral regulation of all your powers to 
give you long, happy and useful Hves, and a serene 
evening at the close." 

149 



The Drinker's Appeal 

^ The following and tragic letter is published in the 
American Magazine: 

" About seven years ago I had a wife and one child 
and held a civil service position which would have in- 
sured me a good salary the rest of my days if I had not 
gone to drinking. I lost my position on account of 
drink, was suspended from my lodge for misconduct 
while intoxicated, and finally got to where I could not 
even get work as a common laborer. I tried to reform, 
but found it impossible if I stayed in my home town. 
I tried to persuade my wife to move somewhere else 
or to let me go and then come to me after I had be- 
come established somewhere else. She refused to leave 
or to let me do so, and finally I ran away from them 
in order to get away from the drink. 

" I have been spending the last three years in the 
' extreme ' ^ back woods ' sections of this state 
(Florida), guarding prisoners on turpentine farms, 
and absolutely away from all liquor — yet when I had 
occasion to make a short trip to one of our larger cities 
a few weeks ago it was one tremendous and continual 
struggle to keep out of the bar-rooms, and I hope never 

ISO 



THE DRINKER'S APPEAL 



to be obliged to spend another twenty-four hours in a 
' wet ' town. This is the situation after a three years' 
trial at overcoming the liquor habit: My wife secured 
a divorce as soon after I left home as possible, and at 
thirty-five years of age I am obliged to stay out in the 
woods, cut off from everything I consider makes life 
worth living, following an uncongenial occupation and 
afraid to go among the people I was used to, for fear 
of again falling." 



151 



Single and Married 

I. Single. 

Paul Mannering, Esq., in terror of the restraints, 
inconveniences, expenses, annoyances, and respon- 
sibilities of married life, had solemnly resolved to 
remain a bachelor all his days. 

He thought over the list of his married acquaint- 
ances, and sympathizingly shook his head. *' Never,*' 
said Mr. Mannering, *' never. Wives are a great 
expense, besides being in thousands of cases, noth- 
ing but a thorn in the flesh to buffet you. They are 
always sick somewhere, or breaking down, if there is 
any active pleasure you desire them particularly to 
enjoy. 

'' Then they don't feel equal to walking with you 
anywhere — it is too fatiguing, and exercise don't 
agree with them. It makes them nervous if you 
come in the house with a good hearty tramp and 
your boots creaking, and if you chance to whistle 
in the overflow of your good humor, why you are a 
venturous man indeed. They won't allow you to 

152 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



put your feet on a chair back and quietly read 
your newspaper after they retire. O, no. The 
rattling of paper makes them nervous, and they feel 
so poorly, everything must be as still as the tomb. 
But if you happen to have a nervous headache, or 
to feel particularly sleepy, my lady will be good for 
midnight certain. And the number of doors that 
will be opened with a squeak and shut with a bang, 
the number of drawers that will be pulled open, and 
resist being pushed in, the number of times the 
tongs and shovel will fall with a ringing clatter upon 
each other, the number of children and servants that 
will come into your room after you are in bed and 
desire repose, beats my arithmetic. 

"And then, a house becomes so noisy in a few 
years after marriage, — everywhere, from garret to 
cellar, is in confusion. In vain you seek for a few 
minutes' delicious seclusion, to meditate on the 
pleasures of bachelor life — the household flock, like 
a flock of sheep, will pop in at the door, one after 
another, fidget around awhile, then all trot out 
again. Your eye is everywhere greeted with whole 
families of doll-babies and Lilliputian tea-things ; 
and hobby horses and miniature wheel-barrows be- 
come the stumbling-blocks over which you run no 
slender risk of breaking your neck, when you grope 

153 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

your way through the darkness to your disordered 
bed-chamber. 

"Apropos of weakness " mused on the surly bache- 
lor, " there is one point on which wives are never 
accused nor suspected. They are never weak in 
will. No advocates of compromise measures — not 
they — their own way, or the tantrums. Alas, this, 
indeed, is a henpecked age — an age of petticoat rule 
— an age of hysterics. And now Paul Mannering, I 
put the question to your heart and conscience — 
marriage, or no marriage? Once for all — aye, or 
no.'' 

Mr. Mannering soliloquized upon his soliloquy 
ere while, with the gravity of a judge and then he 
brought down his clenched fist upon the threadbare 
baize of his writing desk, with more than his ac- 
customed decision, and said, with audible energy, 
" No." 

Our hero was a living commentary upon his prin- 
ciples, till he was more than forty years old, and was 
a very easy, quiet, happy man. His rooms were 
sometimes rather lonely to be sure, but then he had 
become used to that, and liked on the whole, to be 
a little lonely — it gave more zest to the pleasure of 
society. His business was flourishing and profit- 
able. He was extravagant or economical, as he 

154 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



pleased. He shaved or went unshorn, as suited 
his fancy. He read, wrote, meditated, ate, slept and 
smoked, just as he chose, and was quite independ- 
ent every way. What more can a man desire? 

But it came to pass in those days, when everybody 
desires to escape from the dust and filth and smoke, 
and bricks, and suffocation of a great swarming 
city, and go out to recognize God in his own handi- 
work, that Paul Mannering turned the key of his 
office, and his musty old law books, and went to 
rusticate and rejuvenate in a very pleasant and 
picturesque country village on the banks of the 
Hudson. He established himself in a delightful 
room of the very nicest of village hotels for his 
headquarters, but he soon found himself most agree- 
ably domesticated in the family of an old college 
chum, who was the principal '' gentleman of the 
green bag/' in the village, and a man of enviable 
reputation for his professional wisdom, and still 
more popular for his charming social qualities. 
Judge Goldsmith had a wife '' that was a wife " — 
all that the most exacting, the most fastidious, the 
most intensely dissatisfied with everybody else, 
could desire, and Judge Goldsmith truly and richly 
deserved her. 



155 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

She was so cheerful and sunny-spirited, so kindly 
attentive, without oppressing you, so gracefully 
loving and devoted to her gray-headed old Judge — 
she made everywhere so inviting and agreeable, she 
made everybody so satisfied and in such good humor 
with himself, by her own sweet ways, that where 
Judge Goldsmith found such a woman was a puzzle 
to Mr. Mannering, who had been accustomed to re- 
gard them all as a sort of '' twaddle," always ex- 
cepting his mother. He marvelled at Mrs. Gold- 
smith and surrendered to her his most undisguised 
and reverent admiration. 

'' Is it possible," he mentally ejaculated, *' that I 
have been so many years of my life mistaken in the 
sex, or is this glorious woman one of a thousand 
that Solomon never found? I believe she has not a 
peer on earth. Who can wonder that Goldsmith 
never travels without her by his side — ^never takes 
a meal from home if he can help it — never spends an 
evening away from her unless compelled by the 
clamorous demands of business? Who can be sur- 
prised, that after a honeymoon of twenty years, he 
is still a doting lover? 

" I wonder how a soft, fair hand, like hers, would 
feel toying in such a loving way with my gray 
hair? How would I feel twining my arm rightfully 

156 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



about such a round, graceful, beautiful waist? How 
would I acquit myself with such a pair of black, 
dancing eyes looking up into mine, and with such 
a pair of rich lips for nobody but me to kiss? " 

Mr. Mannering was not in the habit of approach- 
ing profanity in any way, but such was his excite- 
ment at this moment by the fancy sketch to which 
his imagination treated him, that he did exclaim, 

" Olympus ! I think I should go mad." 

By way of a little episode in the history of our 
bachelor while we would not, on any account make 
any disclosures as to his prejudice, it must in truth 
be confessed, that in the long course of his bachelor 
life, when he had nobody to please and nobody to 
worry but himself, he had contracted some habits 
and tastes which are not favorable to the happiness 
of married life — a life that he had indeed, never up 
to our date, seriously contemplated — which he had 
on the contrary, distinctly '' tabooed,'' as the Pacific 
heathen say of anything that must be let entirely 
alone. 

Mr. Mannering had not a vice in the world — he 
sometimes but very seldom, tasted wine, and never 
in his life was his mind confused, or his brain giddy 
from indulgence in it. He was, in all respects, 
strictly and scrupuously moral — as faithful to his 

157 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

pew in church as the minister to his pulpit, — kind 
and Hberal to the poor, — beneficent toward all char- 
itable institutions and objects, — never was known to 
shrink from five or from fifty dollars, when a fair 
solicitor set forth with silvery pleadings, the needs 
of the heathen at home, or abroad. 

But with his excellences, Mr. Mannering had one 
habit, venial, perhaps, in a single man, entirely in- 
compatible and irreconcilable with the happiness of 
married life. He stayed out very late at night, some- 
where, — ^he knew where, and the Club knew where. 
For him it was well enough, if he chose so to do; 
but for the married members of the Club, we do 
solemnly enter our protest. Mr. Mannering, like 
thousands of others, was half infatuated with bil- 
liards. Not that he gambled, dear reader, — every 
principle he had revolted at that kind of iniquity; 
not that he ever played for wagers — that is gam- 
bling in no very foreign sense ; but the excitement 
and fascination about the billiard table led him into 
the only excess which could be laid to his charge. 

It was here that he learned pretty much all that 
he knew about wives — the married players were al- 
ways more uneasy than the bachelors ; when twelve, 
one, two, three o'clock pealed out from the church 

158 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



towers, — billiard players are oblivious to watches, — 
the married men said, verily they must go home. 

Well, things were just in this position, when Mr. 
Mannering made his visit at Judge Goldsmith's. We 
do not intend to fatigue the reader with the details 
of his stay; so we will plunge at once to the de- 
nouement, and say that he met, and fell deeply in 
love with a very lovely woman, and nobody save the 
subject of a similar experience, can adequately de- 
scribe his sensations, when he reflected one night, 
after he had retired to his room, with his heart and 
head, and blood and nerves, in the grandest flutter 
he had ever felt in his life, that he had actually 
made an offer of his hand, heart, and worldly estate, 
to a sweet, sensible and brilliant woman, and that he 
was really and truly an accepted lover, — an engaged 
man, with an early day for his wedding under con- 
sideration. 

The strangest kind of intoxication was upon him. 
He felt like a bottle of champagne when the cork 
is being pulled out — as if he could not wait to 
burst. He found himself in bed, but he could ren- 
der no account of how he came there; he found his 
hat and spectacles on, and, for a few minutes he 
could hardly settle it in his mind whether it was 
usual for a sane man to sleep in his hat and spec- 

159 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

tacles, or to divest himself of them. He attempted 
to say his prayers, a ceremony he never omitted, and 
generally performed reverently on his knees. But 
somehow tonight his head w^as not straight enough 
to kneel, and he found his most solemn petitions put 
to flight by such ejaculations as these: 

" It is none of my doings ; it is all that divine Mrs. 
Goldsmith. She has unmanned me. If I never had 
seen hov;^ blessed and happy Goldsmith is, I never 
should have capitulated — ^never. But the man is cer- 
tainly fit to be hanged who could resist such a charm- 
ing creature as Susie Fielding, soon to be Susie Man- 
nering, and my wife. She is above all comparison with 
anything but the angels. How black and bright her 
hair is ; I verily think I could mirror my face in its 
glossy smoothness, well enough to shave. How sunny 
and loving are her dear sparkling eyes, how fragile, 
and yet how beautifully adjusted to comeliness and 
grace is her shape. I would have given my life to 
have twined my arm about her, when she so frankly 
confessed she loved me, and would be mine, without 
any embarrassing ifs or buts, reserves or provisos. 
How graceful and willow-like are all her motions ; how 
sweet and musical is her voice ; and then, bless her 
dear heart, she can't play on the piano nor screech fan- 
dangos — no, operas I mean. I shall last years longer 

160 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



on that account. And then she is mine. I shall be as 
happy as Adam in Paradise, when he first found Eve, 
as soon as I can take possession of my lovely Eve — ^as 
lovely and vastly more sensible and independent in her 
way of thinking than Adam's. I am going to keep 
house — that is, we are — and have a home like Gold- 
smith's, and I will wholly reform all my bad habits " 
— this called back his wandering thoughts to his devo- 
tions again, for he did seriously distrust his ability to 
break away from his besetting sin, even when he had 
voluntarily submitted himself to Susie Fielding's silken 
fetters. 



11. Married. 

Paul Mannering, Esq., had been married a year and 
a half, perhaps, and he found himself the happiest of 
men: Susie was a golden sunbeam in his house — all 
his fancy painted her, and a great deal more. Never 
had he seen her in tears or hysterics; never had she 
once fretted; never had she pouted and been wilful; 
curtain lectures were a means of grace, unheard of be- 
hind his hangings. The very screaming of the baby 
was, most unexpectedly to him, rather musical than 
otherwise — at least, it was such screaming as no baby 
had ever screamed before, and therefore to be toler- 

161 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

ated. Sometimes, — just a few, — ^when the young Paul 
became extravagantly turbulent and exercised his 
vocal talents with unparalleled freedom, his old pro- 
clivity for the billard saloon had seized the fond and 
doting father, and he had found himself irresistibly 
tempted towards the old resort in his days of loneliness 
and bachelorhood. 

It was twelve o'clock when he got home from his 
fii st visit, and he hardly knew what to expect — ^but he 
found Susie up, waiting for him with rather a sad, 
troubled expression on her face; but her smile of joy- 
ful welcome over-arched the sadness like the rainbow, 
spanning the cloud. She had a nice bit of broiled fowl 
and a cup of hot coffee all ready for the refreshment 
of his weariness. He took her on his knee, kissed her at 
least a dozen times, and ate the morsel with great diffi- 
culty of swallowing; for it appeared to him his 
pharynx and oesophagus had suddenly contracted to 
half their usual diameter. 

Mrs. Mannering asked no questions, and her hus- 
band made no confessions, but he inwardly resolved 
that should be the end of billiards for him. Billiards 
against Susie's happiness, — preposterous. 

Poor human nature has always been accused of 
frailty. Mr. Mannering compromised with his resolu- 
tion, and the next time it was fully one o'clock before he 

162 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



returned to Susie and her baby. She had been in bed, 
but when he entered the chamber she was up. With 
all a mother's tenderness, she was assisting a beautiful 
child in his struggle with that terrible scourge of in- 
fancy, the croup. Still he lay in her bosom battling 
with death, and his mother had suffered all the terrors 
for her baby alone, while Paul Marmering had been 
exercising diagonals on a velvet-covered billiard table. 
Susie smiled on her husband more gladly than ever, 
and smothered her own alarm for her boy, to soothe 
and quiet that of his father. She " watched the stars 
out " over the little crib, while Mr. Mannering slept — at 
least, all his compunctions would allow. That night 
he would have sworn a solemn oath, if a bible and a 
magistrate had been at hand. 

Very few persons have the independence to say "Get 
thee behind me,'' to a favorite temptation. Little Paul 
triumphed over the croup. Susie grew more and more 
radiant with happiness, and Mr. Mannering came to 
the conclusion that one more trial of his skill should 
be his valedictory at the billiard saloon ; besides, some 
of his old companions were to be there, and he had been 
laboriously occupied all day — it was easy to persuade 
himself that the recreation would be good for him. 
Alas for poor Susie that night. Mr. Mannering did 
not come home to tea. Susie kept everything nice and 

163 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

hot for him till eleven o'clock, believing that business 
detained him. And when he did not come, and she 
softly requested the servant to take away the tea- 
things, and the toast and cakes she had prepared for 
him her heart did sink. Susie cried as any one would 
cry, but nobody saw her. Everybody had gone to bed 
and to sleep, before she surrendered herself to her par- 
oxysm of grief; and while she was helpless under its 
power she earnestly hoped Mr. Mannering might not 
return till the bitterness had passed. She knew she 
could conquer the agony — her bowed head would rise 
again, erect in her holy innocence — she would be a 
stronger woman, a more devoted wife. 

But the disappointment in not meeting her husband 
at the tea table, and passing the only hours he was at 
liberty from business in his beloved society, was not 
all Susie cried for that night. She had overheard a 
conversation between Miss Crimp, her dressmaker, 
and Janette, her nursing maid, which had caused the 
most intense and distressful anxiety. Miss Crimp was 
very knowing. She sewed in all the "first families/' 
and her ears were both wide open, and her tongue 
going all the time, while she laid on her patterns, and 
snipped up your silk into tatters. She was in posses- 
sion of all the gossip, and liked of all things to peddle 
it. 



164 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



" Squire Mannering is out o'nights pretty much 
these times, isn't he/' she assertingly inquired of Jan- 
ette. 

*' Now and then," replied the nursing girl, who liked 
gossip too. 

" Now and then," quoted Miss Crimp. "If what they 
all say is true, — now I don't know anything in the 
world, but what I hear in the first families where I 
sew ; I don't see how Mrs. Mannering can hold up her 
head and wear such constant smiles. She is such a 
sweet, generous lady, and never screws all she can get 
out of you for a day's work, and don't mind a bit if 
3^ou can't make change to a cent with her. She de- 
serves a better fate, poor thing." 

Janette's curiousity was cruelly spurred by this last 
remark of the oracular Miss Crimp. She opened her 
leaden eyes to their full capacity, and stared in Miss 
Crimp's mysterious face. It was now her turn to 
quote. 

" 'A better fate.' What can you mean, Miss Crimp? 
What has Mr. Mannering done ? " 

" Come now, don't try to play that game on pie, 
Janette. Perhaps Mrs. Mannering has given you 
your orders, however. It isn't possible but you have 
heard — ^why it is the common conversation in the first 
families where I sew." 



165 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

Janette protested, and truthfully, too, that she had 
never heard a single word to Mr. Mannering's discred- 
it in her life. She thought him a very generous, liberal 
man, for he had offered her higher wages than she 
asked, because she had her sick mother to assist, and 
the young heir of the name and estate of Mannering 
was particularly troublesome. 

Miss Crimp laughed a tantalizing laugh, and waited 
for a little urging to untie the strings of her budget of 
tattle. Janette grew very inquisitive. 

" Money is plenty as blackberries with some that 
don't work for it,'' she very significantly replied to 
Janette's remark about her wages. " Now, Janette, I 
wouldn't have you tell it from me for anything, but 
they say he does gamble like all the world. They say 
he is very rich, and that mighty little of his money 
came by law business." 

Janette did not believe a word of all this strange talk, 
but she could not gainsay it, and the fact of Mr. Man- 
nering's being out so late and so frequently, seemed to 
make the probability of Miss Crimp's statement cred- 
ible. She began to be quite agitated about something, 
she hardly knew what, and turned it over in her simple 
mind, whether she had not better give Mrs. Mannering 
notice that she must supply herself with another in- 
cumbent of the post she occupied. 

166 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



But if it agitated Janette, what may Miss Crimp's 
story be supposed to do to the earnest and desolate 
heart of Susie, the trusting — almost adoring — wife? 
She was transfixed with astonishment and mental an- 
guish. Her husband a reputed gambler ! Her instincts 
all told her it was false as sin. Her husband — the 
noblest, the truest, best of men — she knew he would 
disdain like the contact of pollution, deep, dreadful 
moral pollution, a vice so low, so mischievous, so indel- 
ibly stamped with the black impress of iniquity. But 
she had read and heard about the almost irresistible fas- 
cination that coils itself about games of chance; she 
had read and heard of the secrecy of all gamblers' oper- 
ations ; and her husband, open and full of confidence 
on all other subjects, had never once alluded to the 
cause of his remaining away till such unreasonable 
hours. Besides to her clear perception, to her pure 
and upright judgment, excesses of all kinds have a 
look of danger about them; and what stared in her 
face but the incontrovertible fact which had staggered 
Janette's philosophy. Poor Susie's heart fluttered and 
throbbed as if it would burst the slight walls that en- 
closed it, while to all outward seeming she was calm, 
sunny, even joyful. But when the lookers on had 
withdrawn, when she had hushed her baby to his soft 
repose on her bosom, and laid him to his rosy nest, she 

167 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

took her place by the window and looked out in the 
clear moonlight, watching with tearful gaze each 
passer-by till his echoing footsteps died away in the 
distance — still he came not. The chimes from the 
church tower proclaimed the entering in of a new day ; 
it was the day hallowed and consecrated to all future 
by a resurrection. And still he came not. Susie rose 
from her place by the window, and knelt beside the 
bed. She clasped her hands, and softly breathed 
" O Father, good and merciful, and pitying ! My hus- 
band — lead him not into temptation, but deliver him 
from evil." And then she bowed down her bright head, 
as the flower bows beneath the rush of the storm-wind, 
and wept such tears as she had not wept since the hour 
of her blissful wedlock — no, not since her tears of be- 
reavement and agony fell upon her mother's coffin, 
and she was left destitute and an orphan. 

When Mr. Mannering came home that Sabbath 
morning it was nearly three o'clock. He went up the 
stairs very softly, and quietly opened the door into her 
room. Some men would have looked out for a greet- 
ing of tears or reproaches. Mr. Mannering expected 
Susie would smile, but he knew there would be a place 
cruelly smarting and stinging in her pure, loving, de- 
voted heart. 



168 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



It was a summer night, and the drapery of the bed 
was thrown aside. Mr. Mannering with noiseless foot- 
steps, approached the couch, and his heart smote him 
as he gazed enraptured on the lovely spectacle before 
him. Susie was asleep. One fair hand clasped the 
dimpled arm of her baby, whose silken cheek lay close 
to hers like a rose leaf resting on satin — the other lay 
upon the folds of her white cambric robe, that rose 
and fell to her irregular breathing, the hand itself as 
white save the blue tracery of the vein work, as the 
spotless robe she wore. Her face was pale and there 
were traces of tears too obvious to be mistaken — the 
first Paul Mannering had seen since he took the mar- 
riage oath, with God and the angels for witnesses. He 
looked on admiringly, almost adoringly a moment, and 
then he stooped and touched his lips to the lovely half- 
parted lips of his wife. Susie opened her black eyes, 
and in an instant her arm about his neck imprisoned 
him till she could welcome him with kisses. And then 
she laid her baby away in his cradle, twined her arms 
about her husband's neck, nestled her cheek close to 
his, and felt that the strong and steadfast heart beating 
against the flutter of her own was true, honorable, 
faithful, and above all reproach, however assaults of 
calumny might thicken around him. She had one ter- 
rible moment of distrust — her faith and confidence for 

169 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

one moment had been shaken in the man for whom she 
would unhesitatingly die — the man she loved with most 
intense and overmastering devotion — but it was over 
almost with a breath. She kissed his lips again and 
again, the first time since her marriage, wine-tainted — 
she laid her cool hand on his forehead, hot and throb- 
bing with the excitement of the night-game he had 
been playing — she interwove her soft fingers with his 
hair and softly whispered, 

'' Do you love me, husband, my dearest and only 
love ?" '' O Susie, you are a heavenly creature — you 
are the sweetest of all sweet angels — I adore you. 
Why do you ask me if I love you?" 

He very well knew why she asked him. If he truly 
loved her, could he possibly persist in doing volun- 
tarily and deliberately what he knew grieved and 
pained her inmost soul. There was a test for him. 
He would have given a thousand worlds to blot out the 
last night's page from his history — and what would 
have been Susie's consternation if she had known the 
fact, that, for the first time in his life Paul Mannering 
had that night played for a wager. 

But the sound of his voice, the magnetism of his 
touch had soothed every alarm. Susie said no more. 
In a few minutes her husband by the passionless re- 
pose in her face, and by her gentle breathing, knew 

170 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



that her distress and anxiety had all subsided, and 
Susie was asleep in his bosom. 

Next day Mr. Mannering did not rise very early — 
not early enough for church. He had not closed his 
eyes till the dawn, and besides he had a violent head- 
ache. Susie banished the baby, because he was bois- 
terous and exacting as babies are wont to be when you 
want them on their best behavior. She shaded the 
windows and made the light as soft and agreeable as 
possible. She hushed every noise that could annoy or 
irritate her husband's already excited nerves, and then 
she sat down beside him to anticipate every desire be- 
fore it could be expressed, and to lavish upon him those 
sweet caresses and attentions which are a thousand 
fold more curative than medicine. He was very silent, 
and Susie only spoke when she could no longer curb 
the out bursting of her tender devotedness, that seemed 
to swell and expand more and more, the more he suf- 
fered and the more she nursed him. 

Mr. Mannering never had loved or valued Susan 
half so much in his life, and if he prayed any prayers 
that day, it was to thank the Lord for Susie, and to 
invoke neavenly blessings upon her. He felt exceed- 
ingly self-condemned, and when late in the afternoon 

171 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

it came to light that she had been sick all day, and had 
not once betrayed it because he needed her attentions, 
his compunctions became bitterer than ever. 

IIL Finale. 

Years afterwards Paul Mannering, Esq., and his wife 
were sitting by their cheerful fireside alone. He looked 
older a little, but time had laid very light hands upon 
him. The iron grey of his hair had turned to silver, 
and that ripe mature expression reigned over his noble 
countenance which marks unerringly the perfection of 
manhood. Susie was close beside him, and his arm 
circled her waist, and his hand clasped hers not as if 
he were in the wild intoxicating ecstasy of a new love, 
but as if his whole heart, with all its admiration and 
confidence, were immovably anchored upon her. 

Susie looked older — ^but her hair was just as smooth 
and bright, and her eyes just as black and loving as 
when he had made her his bride. She wore deep 
mourning ; more becoming to her style of beauty, per- 
haps, than any other dress, but it was the outward sign 
and symbol of her inward sorrow. Mr. and Mrs. 
Mannering were childless. Paul the first bom, in the 
bloom and loveliness of his young life, had been trans- 
planted from his mother's bosom to the bosom of an 

172 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



angel in heaven. Little Susie, the sweet image of her 
mother, came to cheer the household for a few short 
months, and then she too faded awa)>, and they wept 
over her tiny coffin. And now the father and mother 
bereaved of their little ones, were all the world to each 
other. Susie Mannering had surrendered her children 
without a murmur, but she wildly prayed that her hus- 
band might live to close her eyes and stand by her 
grave — the whole wealth of her heart, the whole treas- 
ury of her affection, she poured out upon him — she de- 
sired nothing to love — nothing on which to bestow her 
devotion, but her husband and heaven. 

Mr. Mannering looked in her face with a serious 
smile and said: 

'' Susie, have I ever pained you or made you un- 
happy since our marriage ? " 

" You are the dearest, noblest, best of husbands, and 
I the happiest of wives," she replied evasively. 

" That does not answer my question. Tell me, Susie. 
I have a particular motive for inquiring." 

" Not these many years," she said smiling, while her 
radiant face confirmed the truth of what she uttered. 

" Well, Susie, since you won't bring me to the con- 
fessional I must come voluntarily. Did you ever know 
that I was passionately fond of billiards during my 
bacherlorhood ?" 

173 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

*' Not from any such communication that you ever 
made to me/' she answered archly. 

" Did you ever know I played after we were mar- 
ried, and our little Paul was born?" 

" Husband/' said Susie, " do you remember one 
night when our baby had a paroxysm of croup, and 
one Saturday night ?" 

" Most painfully well, Susie — what then ?" 

" That Saturday night, beloved, I heard that you 
allowed yourself a habitual indulgence in what I had 
always instinctively regarded as very vicious and 
wicked. In a word I heard that you were a gambler. 
My whole soul revolted. You had never empowered me 
by your confidence to contradict it, though I believed it 
false, every word. You had been absent late at night. 
O, husband, that night I was more unhappy than ever 
before, or than I have ever since been. I have tasted 
very deep and bitter sorrow since. When I kissed and 
caressed our dear little Paul and Susie, and they were 
buried away out of my sight, I knew they had gone to 
the bosom of Jesus. But that night somehow, I felt 
as if you, my best beloved — for well as I loved my son 
I loved you better — I felt as if you were on the brink 
of a fearful danger, and I was powerless to warn or 
save you." 

174 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



" I was on the brink of a fearful danger, Susie, and 
your gentleness, your indescribable sweetness saved 
me. You have been the angel folding your shielding 
arms about me whenever I have since been similarly 
tempted, and the thought of you has made me a strong- 
hearted, resolute, upright man. I have said ' Get thee 
behind me ' to many a temptation, because your dear 
image stood before me in your heavenly purity and 
truth. 

''Susie, you can form no adequate idea of the interest 
and fascination that gradually take captive the reason 
and conscience, the body and soul of the player of 
games of chance. I do not wonder that faro-tables 
decoy thousands to their ruin. Everything is made so 
charming, so bewildering to the senses — ^the saloons 
are so tastefully, sometimes gorgeously furnished, the 
entertainments are so tempting to the appetite — every- 
body is so gentlemanly and so courteous — it is so easy 
and comfortable to lounge on those damask cushions 
— and everything has such an air of freedom, of fair- 
ness, of honor, that I do not wonder that the unw^ary 
are enticed * like a bird that hasteth to the snare, and 
knoweth not that it is for his life/ nor that many 
strong men are slain. 

" You look anxious, Susie, but I am guiltless of any 
sins of that nature; I never sat down to a faro-table, 

175 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

but I have wasted hours and hours of precious time at 
billiards. That memorable Saturday night, I know not 
what infatuation seized me. I supped at a restaurant 
with an old friend, when I might just as well have 
gone home, and then he challenged me to a trial of 
skill with him at billiards. He was slightly intoxicated, 
and I had taken one glass of wine, the first I had 
touched since our marriage, dear Susie. He was by 
far the most skillful player, but he was cloudy in his 
mind, and very confident. I was determined and my 
mind was never clearer. He grew excited, and finally 
laid a roll of bank notes upon the table. I declined to 
play for a wager. It was against my principles. I 
had never played for gain, but simply for amusement, 
and never before had I staked or won a single farthing. 
Mr. Clayton was desperate and insisted, and the re- 
sult disappointed and astonished him. As I put the 
money in my pocket, I never saw such an expression 
of resolute despair on any man*s countenance, and I 
believe I never felt so completely self-condemned. It 
was my fixed purpose to restore him the money the 
following day, but we parted with the compliments of 
the evening, and mutual invitations to exchange calls 
as of old. 

" I came home and found you asleep, Susie — you 
looked to me like a white-robed angel just from 

176 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



Heaven, sent to infold in your arms my beautiful child. 
Such a lovely sight, sweet wife — I will not talk of it — 
it unmanned me then, and will be one of the very last 
memories to fade out from my heart. You opened 
your eyes, and welcomed me with caresses. You 
uttered no word of reproof, reproach or distrust — you 
only asked me if I loved you, and then you gently fell 
asleep in my bosom. 

''Remorse kept me awake till morning. I had 
trenched upon holy time; I had caused tears to dim 
your eyes; I had trampled upon my own principles; 
Clapton's face haunted me; I had committed a whole 
catalogue of sins, and the stings of my conscience 
were keen and piercing. 

'' You nursed me all day, O how tenderly, and I only 
covenanted with myself and God, never to give you 
like occasion again. At night I went to call upon Clay- 
ton at his hotel. He was sitting alone in an upper 
room. A bottle of brandy, and a most suspicious look- 
ing vial, stood on the table before him, and he was 
hastily penning a letter. 

" He scarcely noticed my entrance, but soon finished 
his writing. He deliberately folded the paper and said : 

" 'Mannering, you and I have been friends from boy- 
hood — I desire one last favor of you. This is a 
letter to my injured wife — I want you to deliver it 

177 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

yourself, and tell her I could not survive both ruin and 
disgrace. God will bless you if you will be kind to 
her/ he added, with almost suffocating emotion. 

" I took the vial in my hand, and playfully shook its 
contents, though there was a dreadful fluttering at my 
heart. 

'' 'Why my dear Clayton,' said I, ' what sort of a fifth 
act have I stumbled upon ? You are not going to make 
off with yourself surely? What sort of essence have 
you here ? ' 

" Clayton gazed earnestly in my face, and took the 
vial out of my hand. 

" ' It is a desperate act,' he said, ' and I take a plunge 
into horrible darkness, Mannering. But I am a des- 
perate man — certain disgrace and ruin await me. I 
have squandered my own fortune — my wife was an 
heiress, and now she is a beggar. It is a craven thing 
to tell you, but a man may be pardoned for the dis- 
closures he makes in his last hours. The money you 
won from me last night, I secretly borrowed from the 
vaults of the bank where I am employed, with the vain 
hope that one more visit, one more indulgence of my 
passions would retrieve my fallen fortunes. It is gone, 
and I am a dead man.' 

"He raised the vial to his livid lips, but with a 
strength augmented by the horror I felt, I wrenched 

178 



SINGLE AND MARRIED 



it from him, before he had tasted its subtle contents, 
and dashed it against the brick wall that flanked the 
open window. Clayton bowed his head upon the 
table. 

'* ' Well, this is truly a tragic way to make yourself 
agreeable,' said I, feigning a composure I was very far 
from feeling. ' You are a mad man, but not a dead 
man. Shame on you to add insult to injury, by mak- 
ing your wife the widow of a cowardly suicide.' 

" I had put the money I had won, with an additional 
sum into his passive hand. 

" ' Replace it the firs.t moment where it rightfully be- 
longs, Clayton,' I said, ' before any discovery of the 
fraud can possibly be made. And now you and I will 
pledge ourselves, after this most farcical of farces. 
What do you say?' 

" His hand instinctively extended itself towards the 
decanter. 

'' ' No, no, Clayton,' I replied to his movement. 

'' ' That is your worst enemy, and will be your de- 
stroyer, unless you break all friendship with it. Now 
let us solemnly, as men, as husbands, as citizens, as 
fathers, abjure all association henceforth with brandy 
and games of chance.' 

" The conclusive energy with which he grasped my 
hand was like the pressure of a vice. 



179 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

'' ' You have saved me/ he said, ' and I will promise 
you anything.' '' 

Susie had hstened with absorbing interest to the 
narration. ''And did he restore happiness to his wife 
and keep his pledge, as my noble husband has done ?'' 

'' Yes, dearest — neither of us has since set our foot 
within the precincts of temptation. He is now Presi- 
dent of the bank he robbed, and I sufficiently happy 
and honored by being your husband." 



180 



Alcohol a Poison 

That alcohol is a poison is a well-settled fact. Chem- 
ists testify that the substance which intoxicates, and 
which men so much love and seek in brandy, rum, wine 
and other liquors, is alcohol — one of the most active 
and powerful of the narcotic vegetable poisons. 

Between four and five hundred physicians in the city 
of New York, and about seven thousand in America 
and Europe, testify to the same thing — that it is a dan- 
erous poison. Thus with a jury of more than seven 
thousand men, disinterested and intelligent, and in 
every respect competent to settle the question, will any 
man declare that alcohol in any form is a wholesome 
or harmless beverage? 

Alcoholic beverages of commerce are even worse 
than alcohol itself. Read part of the long catalogue of 
pernicious agents in common use : Essential oils, coc- 
culus indicus, logwood. Brazil-wood, alum, green vit- 
riol, oil of vitriol, capsicum, opium, tobacco, aloes, bitter 
oranges, henbane, poison hemlock, prussic acid, lamb's 
blood, salt of tartar, and so on. Here are some of the 
most deadly vegetable and mineral agents in the world, 
with which nearly all of the liquors are drugged and 
adulterated. Here are the articles that enter into the 
composition of *' fine old ports," '' clarets," '' sparkling 
ales," and '' genuine spirits," oflfered to a gullible pub- 
lic. 

181 



Stop in Time 

Young man, you who take your glass of wine be- 
cause it is fashionable, accept a friendly warning of 
your danger and stop in time. The custom is fraught 
with danger, and so sure as you persist in it so sure 
will you become a slave to the bottle. You may think 
there is no danger of this — that you are so strong 
within yourself that you can stop at any point upon 
the road to ruin and retrace your steps with ease. De- 
luded man, you may see your error when it is too late ; 
for there is a point upon the dangerous road beyond 
which few have returned, and these few performed the 
feat with almost superhuman struggles. You can 
break the habit now — its fetters are not riveted as yet, 
and now is the time to break loose from a custom 
which will inevitably ruin you if you persist in its prac- 
tice. You are strong enough now to stop, and you 
peril your life and your soul by risking the gathering 
danger any longer. Your helpless weakness will come 
upon you in an hour when you least expect it. You 
will be in the midst of a debauching revel, and then 
gaunt danger will suddenly stand out before you and 
you will then feel your helplessness and want of power 
to grapple with a curse the most afflictive that ever 
scourged humanity. Stop in time. 

182 



Revelations of a Gambler 

In the early history of California during the Gold 
fever, there were many sad tragedies. Many a young 
man left home with a pure and unsullied heart, think- 
ing to make a fortune in the gold fields, who after- 
wards succumbed to the terrible temptations which be- 
set him. One of these gave the following record of 
his career: 

I am about to relate a story of crime, in which I 
made shipwreck of my soul. You shall not have my 
true name, for I will not bring disgrace on my good 
old mother and — . No ! her name must not be pro- 
faned by unholy lips. I would atone for the wrong 
done my fellow-men, but I would not rot in the felon's 
prison or swing from the gibbet. This manuscript will 
reach you through the postoffice ; you need not enquire 
for the writer. Publish it if you choose ; if not, it will 
find other avenues to the ear of the public. Before I 
have done, many guilty hearts will quail at spectral 
gallows ; and well they may, for they ruined me, and I 
will be avenged. I will build around them a prison, 
stone by stone ; I will weave around them a net of iron, 
and they can not escape me. One by one they shall 

183 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

be dragged to prison, and they shall not know what 
hand struck the blow, and when the cord tightens 
on their necks they will understand what is meant by a 
ruined man's vengeance ! But the fruit is not ready to 
pluck yet : they must near their doom by degrees, just 
as the victim of consumption feels the fountains of life 
congealing day by day. 

It is now nearly seven years since I left home, an 
honest, honorable man. I was only a boy, but my arm 
was nerved by hope and resolution. The story is too 
long though — too like the history of a thousand others 
in whom the Creator did not implant an incorruptible 
principle. The labor of my hands failed, and my soul 
rebelled against my destiny. I have read in your paper 
several articles that purported to be " Manuscripts 
Found in a Deserted Cabin." I do not know whether 
they are fiction, but they are so like my own feelings, 
before I found the mark of Cain on my brow, that I 
can almost believe them my own. 

One night, I was lounging about in a saloon in — . I 
will not say where now; the time has not yet come. 
The rain was falling steadily, and every face looked 
forbidding and gloomy. I had ten dollars in my pock- 
et, and prompted by my evil genius, I threw it down on 
a roulette table and received ten silver dollars. It was 
my first adventure, and I trembled as the first, second 

184 



REVELATIONS OF A GAMBLER 

and third bets were lost. But the tide eventually 
turned, and I left the room with fifty-six dollars, in 
addition to the eagle I began with. You now know 
how I began ; the end is yet to follow. 

Returning to my camp, in which the air was chilly 
and damp, I hastened to bed and tried to sleep, but I 
could not. I felt guilty — that I had lost something not 
to be regained; my self-respect was gone, and I felt 
that I was a gambler ! The next night found me at the 
table again, drinking frequently. Need I tell you the 
rest? Ask some who are now in the transition state 
from honor to felony — I have other things to relate. 

Passing over a year of my novitiate, in which I be- 
came a confirmed and skillful gambler, I will relate 
only the acts of villainy in which I was a participant, 
for the purpose of showing the simple fools who 
squander their hard earned money at gambling hells, 
how miserably they are victimized while they suppose 
they are getting an '' even show.'' This I will do, 
partly for my own amusement, and partly to show 
others how to avoid the rocks on which I split. 

One evening I was sitting at my table, watching 
the faces of the people lounging around the room, not- 
ing their avaricious glances at the little stacks of gold 
and silver that I kept fingering over, in the hopes of 
decoying some simpleton to bet at my bank. Presently 

185 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

an old man came in at the door, and walking briskly 
across the room, threw a sack of gold on my table, 
and asked for silver. Without uttering another word, 
or even once looking up from the table, he commenced 
betting, and at every turn of the card he won. It 
seemed as though he knew every card in the pack. 
The sacks of gold rapidly disappeared, then the gold 
coin, and then a bag of dust, and the bank was broken. 
Gathering up his gains coolly and deliberately, and 
silently as he had played, and tying them up in a dingy 
pocket handkerchief, he lit his pipe at the candle, and 
left the room. 

It was some minutes before I could realize that 
every cent I was worth on earth was gone. The by- 
standers, who had become interested in the game, 
looked triumphantly at me as though they rejoiced at 
my ruin, and although I spoke not, I grew nearly wild 
with passion. In my excitement in play, while under 
the spell wrought by the silent, systematic play of the 
old man, I had forgotten to reserve even a few dollars 
to begin anew, and I was a beggar, and I felt that I 
would rather be a thief. — That was the last of my 
gambling. 

There is a beautiful lake about twenty miles south 
of Sierra Valley, on one side of which the walls tower 
up in a wall of nearly solid masonry for many hundred 

186 



REVELATIONS OF A GAMBLER 

feet. At the base there are several little grottoes or ex- 
cavations, large enough to aflford comfortable lodg- 
ment for three or four persons. To one of these I will 
conduct the reader, after a lapse of two years from the 
time the old man tapped my bank. 

A brisk fire of pine limbs was blazing in front of the 
cave, throwing a bright glare up among the evergreen 
boughs that overhung the camp; not a sound was to 
be heard but the eternal screeching of a thousand frogs 
around the margin of the lake, and the darkest mantle 
of night hung heavy on the hills. Four men sat squat- 
ted on the ground around the fire smoking their pipes, 
every now and then peering out into the darkness as 
though they expected some one to return. Two rifles, 
a fowling piece, and other smaller arms were stacked 
against a rock, and altogether the camp looked like 
that of a company of prospectors who had bivouacked 
for the night. 

The night wore away, and I — for I was one of the 
four — became restless, and was about to replenish the 
fire, when a crackling was heard in the brush, and be- 
fore we had time to seize our guns, two men sprang 
out of the brushwood and threw their two heavy sacks 
on the ground with a suppressed cry of trimuph. 

" There ! '' said the foremost, " there, I told you we 
would settle him. Old Simmons will not be troubled 



187 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

watching his dust now. But didn't the old man hang 
on to the bags like grim death to a nigger? '' 

" Yes, he didn't do anything else ; but the gash 
across his throat will leak too much wind to let him tell 
about it. The miserly old devil fit some, though, and 
nearly bit one of my fingers off." And the speaker 
held his hand down to the fire, muttering imprecations 
on the soul which he said was in hell by that time. 

The reader already understands that the men were 
robbers, who had just returned from an expedition, and 
that the men at the camp fire were their confederates. 
They had attempted to rob an old man who lived alone, 
but just as they had finished digging the treasure from 
beneath the fireplace, the miser woke and sprang to- 
wards the marauders, but was knocked down, and at 
length murdered. In the scuffle he had bitten one of 
the murderer's hands as above spoken of. 

The story was soon told, the money secreted in a 
cleft of the rock, and a scanty meal dispatched, when 
it was determined to detail two men to secrete the body. 
No one wanted to go, and it was at last decided by lot, 
and I was one of the detachment. Each taking a 
pistol, I and my companion started through the wood 
to the old man's cabin, to dispose of the remains, lest 
the neighborhood should be aroused and our rendez- 
vous discovered. 

188 



REVELATIONS OF A GAMBLER 

Arriving at the cabin we found the body almost 
swimming in blood — the ground floor was uneven, 
and the murdered man had fallen with his head in a 
cavity in the floor, and his life's blood had clotted and 
hardened on his face, and when we turned him over, 
the ghastly countenance almost made me shrink with 
terror. It was my first companionship with murder, 
and my limbs sank under me. Finding it impossible 
to remove the signs of the murder, we set fire to the 
cabin, and fled back to our camp, neither of us daring 
to speak to the other, or look behind. The others w^ere 
sleeping, and rolling ourselves in our blankets, we 
sought a refuge from the ghastly, bloody face, that 
seemed to be close behind us, in a troubled and broken 
sleep. 

At daylight the money was divided, and we sep- 
arated, never to meet at the cave again. It would re- 
quire many pages to tell the history of those six men, 
and perhaps I may some day undertake it. Two of 
them have been hanged; one was arraigned for mur- 
der, but was sworn clear by his friends, and another 
is now sitting quietly at his bank, with his share of 
the spoils stacked up as a bait for the simple, and I — 
I am an outcast — an outcast from God, yet mingling 
with the busy throng of gold diggers. That was only 
one of our exploits, and since then I have known 

189 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

many companions in crime. The old man robbed that 
night was he who broke my bank ; I had followed him, 
watched him accumulating gold, and had communi- 
cated to others the secret, yet had not the courage to 
commit the deed myself. But blood is on my soul; I 
am not a murderer ; I never shed human blood, yet the 
guilt of that dreadful deed is mine. 

Many times have I met with my old companions, 
many of whom are still struggling about the mining 
towns. No one knows how they live; they always 
have money, but where it comes from no one can tell. 
Now and then one is missiing from his old haunts, and 
in the course of a few months or weeks he returns — he 
has been to the States — has been below, or, at least, 
has been somewhere ; his money still holds out, though 
no one has ever seen him at work. 

I do not mean to convey the idea that all gamblers 
are thieves, robbers, and murderers, by no means ; there 
are many comparatively INNOCENT men whom 
chance or circumstance has driven to that means of 
making a living ; but among these there are scores of 
thieves and burglars aye, and murderers, who hang 
about their path, and escape suspicion by being found 
in their society. 

But my sheet is nearly full, and my disconnected 
story must end. It is not a story, however, but a re- 

190 



REVELATIONS OF A GAMBLER 

cital of events that is to bring more than one culprit to 
justice. They are singled out, and ere long will fall 
into the pit I have digged. The secret of more than 
one robbery and murder is with them, and they shall 
tell it from the gallows, but I will not hear the recital ; 
I shall be at work LIKE AN HONEST MINER, 
while they take the twist out of a new rope. 



191 



The Pledge 

A prominent man related the following incident : 
One Sabbath afternoon, as I was passing through one 
of the grave-yards, in the suburbs of our city, my at- 
tention was arrested by one of our reformed drunk- 
ards, who was seated near a grave in a retired part of 
the cemetery. He was apparently unconscious of my 
approach, and sat gazing upon the grass covered hil- 
lock that entombed the ashes of a departed one. The 
tears were coursing their way down his cheeks, while 
the heaving of his bosom indicated unfathomable sor- 
row. I immediately recognized him as brother D , 

a man who, two years ago, was regarded by all that ' 
knew him, as one destitute of every feeling, and un- 
susceptible of emotion, — a lost and wretched drunkard. 
Unwilling to intrude upon his meditations, I en- 
deavored to pass by unnoticed. But in this I was un- 
successful. He recognized me, and I drew near. He 
grasped my hand aflfectionately, but his heart was too 
full to permit him to speak for some moments. 

192 



THE PLEDGE. 



'' There," said he at length, " repose the mortal re- 
mains of my wife ;" pointing to the grave before him ; 
*' often within the last two years have I made a pil- 
grimage to this spot/' 

Not having been acquainted with his early history, 
and my curiosity being somewhat excited by what I 
had already seen and heard, I desired him to inform 
me as to his life. He related something like the fol- 
lowing story: 

'' I was born on the Eastern shore of Maryland. My 
parents were in moderate circumstances, but highly 
respected. I was their only son, and they gave me 
every opportunity to render myself worthy of the 
affection lavished upon me. At an early age I was 
prepared for college, and left the parental roof with a 
mother's blessing, and followed by a father's prayers, 
to enter upon full course of study in a university. For 
a time my success in my studies, was gratifying to my 
friends. Before two years had passed, however, I had 
contracted a fondness for company, and a taste for the 
inebriating cup, which has since been by ruin. Tired 
of a college life, I abandoned my books — became idle 
and dissipated, and was privately advised by the pro- 
fessors that I had better go home. 

" In obedience to their wishes, and my own inclina- 
tions, I retired once more to the theater of my child- 

193 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

hood, and the bosom of my parents. But I was not 
the same confiding, affectionate and obedient son ; but 
was passionate, headstrong and wayward. The pocket- 
bible, which my mother gave me on my departure for 
college, and which I was careful, for the first few 
months, to read, had been neglected, and was no longer 
my counselor. Well, now, do I remember, the line 
traced on the first leaf by a mother's hand. ' The fear 
of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.' Soon after 
my return, my father sickened and died. As he was 
breathing his last, he laid his hand upon me and ex- 
claimed : ' May God bless thee, my son.' Now I can 
realize something of the value of that blessing, and the 
priceless excellence of the favor of God. Then it 
affected me but a short time ; for a few months after the 
decease of my father, I banished every serious thought, 
and plunged headlong into the stream of guilty pleas- 
ure, and followed its rapid course downward toward 
the gulf of ruin. 

" I was arrested, temporarily, in my downward 
progress, by the death of my mother. This dispensa- 
tion of Providence almost overwhelmed me. I felt 
that my all was gone — that I was left alone in the 
world. The thought that my waywardness had has- 
tened her departure, embittered every moment of my 
life. I resolved to live differently, and for some time 

194 



THE PLEDGE. 



attended church, and read my Bible ; avoided the soci- 
ety of the intemperate and profane. I was not yet 
lost to every refined sentiment; my heart had not yet 
become hard as the nether millstone. 

*'At the age of twenty-four I married one of the 
most amiable and lovely of women — never was a hus- 
band more fondly loved, and never was affection more 
cordially reciprocated. For two years we lived in the 
bright sunshine of holy affection ; each studied how to 
make the other more and more happy. 

" But alas ! the demon of intemperance laid his hand 
upon me, and he converted our little heaven into the 
most gloomy hell. 

" When I began again to drink, my appetite returned 
with tenfold more power than ever. I neglected my 
business, forsook the society of my companion, and 
very soon was fit only to associate with drunkards and 
devils. Rapidly I squandered the little patrimony left 
me by my parents, and was a poor, poverty-stricken, 
wretched drunkard. My wife saw and wept over my 
ruin, but she loved me still. The more the world 
shunned me, the closer she seemed to cling. Having 
lost my property, and what was worse, my character, 
I determined elsewhere to seek a home. I then moved, 
with my wife and one child, (who are now in heaven) 
to the State of Pennsylvania. I fortunately obtained a 



195 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

situation to keep a small school, and for three months 
remained sober, and was much esteemed as a teacher. 
But I returned again to my cups, and was consequently 
compelled to seek employment in some other quarter 
of the world. We found our way to Pittsburg, and 
here I drank and labored alternately, until I had per- 
formed almost every menial service. At one time 
working in a furnace, at another in a livery stable, at 
a third, making a few cents on the wharf, loading and 
unloading steamboats. Thus I spent, or rather wasted, 
ten months. At the end of that time, we came to Cin- 
cinnati, and here, too, I was known as a poor drunken 
exile, and vagabond. 

" Soon after our arrival in this city, our child died of 
scarlet fever, and was buried somewhere, by the town- 
ship trustees. Oh ! that I knew the spot, that I might 
water it with my penitent tears. During the first year 
after I came to Cincinnati, I made three trips to New 
Orleans as a fireman. My wife labored with her own 
hands to pay the rent of the small house we occupied, 
in an alley, and to procure her food and clothing. 
Five years ago last August, overcome by disappoint- 
ment, her spirit broken, and her aflfections crushed, 
her bodily strength gave way, and she died ; and here, 
on this sacred spot, her ashes were entombed. Her 
path in life was strewn by me with briars and thorns, 

196 



THE PLEDGE. 



which should have been covered with flowers, to have 
been worthy of her loveliness and her virtues. In all 
my wanderings and departures from the path of rec- 
titude, she never reproached me. Kind and forgiving 
in her disposition, amiable in her temper, she seemed 
to love me more ardently as she found me cut off from 
the sympathies of the rest of the world. She com- 
mended her wretched husband to the forgiving mercy 
of God, and plunged into the stream that separated her 
from a better world, without a murmur. 

" Since her decease, I have been in almost every city 
in the West and South. I am acquainted with most 
of the watchhouses, houses of refuge, and hospitals, 
having been an inmate in them all. Two years ago, a 
houseless wanderer on the verge of delirium tremens, 
I was conveyed to the refomied drunkards' asylum on 
Vine Street, and blessed be God, the blind received 
sight, the dead was made alive again. I am now free 
from the monster's grasp. I am now a member of the 
Methodist church, and have a hope that maketh not 
ashamed. I love, on Sabbath evening, to find my way 
to this sepulchre. It makes me feel sad, it is true ; ' by 
the sadness of the countenance the heart is made bet- 
ter.' My greatest desire is, to live in such a manner, 
that when I lay this body in the dust I may be per- 
mitted, in yon bright abode, to join in full chorus with 

197 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

my father and mother, and wife and daughter, in cele- 
brating the praise of him who hath redeemed us, and 
bought us with his blood." 

Such was the simple narrative of one " unknown to 
fame," who has been saved from ruin through the in- 
strumentality of the pledge. 



198 



The Wreck of a Career 

The Boston Traveler relates the story of a fast 
young man of Boston who forsook the straight path 
at Twelve Dollars a week, for the crooked road and a 
" gay " life. Now, under sentence of fifteen years in 
prison, he has told the story of how he lived during the 
two years in which he stole more than Two Hundred 
and Ten Thousand Dollars. It is not a pretty story; 
some parts of it are very disgusting. But every word 
of it might well be used as an example to other boys 
who fret at a small income, and wish they could " live 
high.'' 

He perfected a scheme of robbing the bank where 
he was employed, which he hoped would defy detection 
and which, as a matter of fact, did defy detection until 
the institution was looted to the point of failure. He 
had vast sums of money, often in thousand dollar bills. 
He did not deny himself anything he wanted — an auto- 
mobile, a chauffeur, fashionable clothes, jewelry, ex- 
pensive rooms and food, champagne, the companion- 
ship of questionable young women. He gambled on a 
scale that would have absorbed the income of a mil- 



199 



FLASHLIGHTS FROM REAL LIFE 

lionaire. Other young men who knew him and ob- 
served his pace may have thought him especially for- 
tunate. 

But he was never truly happy, even for a moment. 
The fast life, the wine, the high stakes, all furnished 
a feverish excitement that might pass for enjoyment, 
but always in the background was the threatened dis- 
covery that he was a thief — and in the foreground, 
especially of mornings, when the fumes of wine had 
gone, the knowledge that he was a fool. 

The crash came, as was to be expected. He was 
caught, confessed and was sentenced to prison. He 
has had to tell the whole disgraceful story— a story 
that bows his mother's head, and makes even the wom- 
en whom he made his associates, sob with shame as 
they sit in the court-room and listen. With the great- 
est possible shortening of his sentence for good be- 
havior he will remain in prison more than eleven years, 
and at the age of thirty-four he will come forth, an ex- 
convict. What a price to pay for less than two years 
of " fun " that wasn't fun at all ! 

Most men of mature years have learned the lesson 
that one does not have to wait for eternity to see retri- 
bution follow sin and folly. It came quickly to this fast 
young man and the punishment has involved not only 
him, but all the members of his household. Every 

200 



THE WRECK OF A CAREER 



parent whose son evinces a tendency to wildness should 
see that the boy hears the story of this other boy, with 
as much detail as is proper for him to hear. It may 
turn another lad from the path of the fool before it is 
too late. 

What wouldn't that young man give to turn back the 
pages of the last three years and face an honest, de- 
cent life — even at Twelve Dollars a week? 



201 



Only a Drunk 

One morning Rev. Dr. Kephart of Dayton, Ohio, 
was awakened by the police who were putting a 
man in the patrol wagon back of his home. He in- 
quired the cause of the disturbance and the police- 
man answered, '' It is all right, minister, it is noth- 
ing but a drunk.'' 

The good minister could not sleep any more, but 
wrote the following poem, — 

'Twas only a drunk 

That lay in the alley this morn; 

Only a drunk. 
Hurry, patrol, and take him away; 
Out of our sight, this miserable clay. 
He's only a drunk — 

Only a drunk. 

'Twas only a drunk 

That staggered the street last night; 

Only a drunk. 
Why should I care for his folly and shame? 
He's taking his chance, playing the game. 
He's only a drunk — 

Only a drunk. 

202 



ONLY A DRUNK. 



Was he only a drunk, 

That lay in the alley this morn? 

Only a drunk. 
Was he not, my friend, some mother's child? 
Some mother in search, weary and wild? 
Was he only a drunk? 

Only a drunk? 

Was he only a drunk. 

That staggered the street last night? 

Only a drunk. 
May be, the stay of some lonely wife? 
May be, the hope of some child's life? 
Was he only a drunk? 

Only a drunk? 

God pity the drunk 

That staggered and lay in his shame. 

He's more than a drunk! 
For he is a man, some mother's child! 
The image of God by drink made wild! 
He's more than a drunk! 

More than a drunk! 

God pity the State 

That sees her sons stagger the street! 

Pity the State! 
That sees her sons drunk, her daughters disgraced, 
While Purity weeps, and Law all shame-faced, 
Looks on, her hands bound! 

Pity the State! 

203 



The Inebriate's Bride 

'Twas the hour of the bridal; — all blooming and fair 
Stood the bride, in the flush of her loveliness there, 
As the wealth of her heart's pure affection was given 
To the loved, and the vow was recorded in heaven. 

Oh! sweet was the rapture that thrilled through his breast 
As the small, trembling hand to his bosom he pressed; 
And proud was the glance of his eloquent eye. 
O'er cheek, lip and brow, the rich blood mantled high. 

He vowed to defend her, in honor and truth; 

To love her in age as he loved her in youth; 

And he breathed the fond promise, with joy in his heart. 

That only stern Death from that loved one should part. 

Ah! could he have seen, as he knelt by her side. 
The anguish awaiting his beautiful bride. 
He had turned, in dismay, from the dread future years, 
And shrouded the bridal in darkness and tears. 

But he thought not of sorrow, his heart knew no fear; 
He had sipped the red wine, but 'twas only to cheer, 
And the future looked smiling and gay as the morn. 
Adorned with life's rose, but concealed was each thorn. 

I saw them again when the banquet was o'er. 
And I knew, by the flush that his countenance wore, 
That the tempter was there in this hour of his joy; 
He had lurked in the cup to allure and destroy. 

204 



THE INEBRIATE'S BRIDE 



Then I turned from that bridal, so joyous and gay, 
And I wept as in sadness I hastened away. 
For I thought of Hope's roses, so fragrant and fair. 
And I knew that the touch of the spoiler was there. 

Again I beheld them, — oh! pale was the brow 

Of the beautiful bride, and her idol lay low; 

He had sipped the red wine 'till it maddened his brain, 

And he bowed to its thraldom, and sought if again. 

And the love that had blessed him in life's early day, 
He had cast, in its beauty and freshness, away: 
Aye, laughed as the tear-drop, unbidden, would start 
From the depths of her broken and desolate heart. 

And was it for this that he led her away 
From her own happy home, on that glad bridal day? 
Ah! little she thought, as she stood by his side. 
That 'twas to become an Inebriate's Bride. 

Yet, with woman's devotion, she clung to him still, 
Her love all unchanging through darkness and ill; 
But the rose left her cheek, and the lustre her eye; 
And they gathered around, for they knew she must die. 

And she faded from earth, and they laid her to rest. 
And lightly they pressed the green turf o'er her breast, 
Rejoicing to think that no ill could betide, 
Or sorrow reach more the Inebriate's Bride. 

Oh! touch not the wine when 'tis red in the bowl, 
'Tis a foe in disguise — it will ruin thy soul: 
All too late thou may'st start in keen anguish to find 
That it leaveth the sting of the adder behind. 



205 



^ 



■A 



DEC 7 1910 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



